


Forged Of Gold

by veilchenjaeger



Category: Hellenistic Religion & Lore
Genre: Ableism, Adultery, Arranged Marriage, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M, Gen, Retelling, The ships are a mess, Unrequited Love, a bit of Aphrodite/Hephaestus, a bit of Hephaestus/Aglaia, background Aphrodite/Ares, please let the Aglaia tag have correct Greek welp, so many easter eggs for myth geeks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-05-07 15:53:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 30,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5462345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veilchenjaeger/pseuds/veilchenjaeger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A retelling of Hephaestus' rise to Olympus and the time after, exploring him and his relationships to the important people in his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Golden Throne

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shiniestqueen (sparrowinsky)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparrowinsky/gifts).



> This teaches me not to procrastinate and then decide to write 25k. The other chapters are done, but not in a shape to be posted. I pulled two all-nighters and am in no physical shape to upload the other chapters now. I am sincerely sorry. I don't know if it is against the rules to post only one chapter. I tried my best.

It all began with a visit and an idea.

The visit was not made to him, but if you lived with the water Nymphs, you were never far away from the house of Tethys and Okeanos. Hephaestus was in his forge when she arrived, where he spent most of his time ever since he had learnt the art of smithery. Outside, the endless ocean lay with all its wonders, but for him, nothing could be more wonderful than seeing a plump chunk of gold turn into a shining, delicately woven necklace.

He was working on one, fitting pieces of coral in between pearls and polished gold. It was for Aglaia, who had looked so jealously at the bracelet he had made for her younger sister, and Hephaestus hurriedly hid it away when the form of a young woman entered the forge with bouncing steps.

“What are you hiding?” Pasithea asked cheerfully. Even the youngest of Eurynome’s daughters was technically older than him, but Pasithea had kept her youthfulness for far longer than most gods. She had wrapped her long braid of bright blonde hair around her neck like a scarf, and her eyes were fixed on Hephaestus’ hands behind his back.

“Is that for me?” she asked.

“For your sister,” Hephaestus said and laid the half-finished necklace back onto the workbench.

Pasithea pursed her lips in a childish pout. “Pity. It’s so pretty!”

“I only just made you a bracelet,” Hephaestus reminded her. “What brings you down to the forge?”

Finally, Pasithea looked away from the necklace and up to him. “The Queen of Olympus is visiting her foster parents,” she said. “And she will greet her oldest friends and sisters, too.”

“And that means?”

“Hera is visiting Tethys and Okeanos.” Pasithea grinned. She paused, then, turned her gaze to the ground and lowered her voice. “Mother thinks it is better if you stay down here until she is gone.”

Under the table, Hephaestus clenched his hands to fists. For once, he was glad to be seated and be able to hide them in his lap. Towards Pasithea, he nodded slowly. “Tell Eurynome not to worry, I’ll stay here. Shouldn’t you hurry to join them if you want to meet Hera?”

He watched Pasithea’s smile light up again and almost didn’t hear her hurried goodbyes over the noise of the forging fires, as she skipped over the black lava stone to the forge’s threshold. His eyes lingered on the gate where she had disappeared. Absentmindedly, he picked up the pearl he had meant to string onto the necklace, but as he turned back to his work, he couldn’t pinpoint where it was meant to go.

Carefully, he put the pearl down next to the others. From across the room, a glimmer of iron and bronze caught his eyes. The device he had been working on stood there, a hybrid of chariot and chair. It was the third one he had built. With the others he had made irreversible mistakes, and their remnants now were part of racing chariots and fine jewellery. So far, it wasn’t able to move without being drawn or pushed, but he was working on a pair of wings that could carry the chair not only across water and lands but also up into the sky – as soon as they were fully functional.

It would be a good opportunity to…

He shook his head. No, it was not ready. It couldn’t be used outside the forge yet, that privilege was reserved for the completed works. The perfect, beautiful things. 

Instead, he grabbed the bronze cane that was leaning against his workbench, and pushed himself up onto both legs. For one more moment, he hesitated. Then he left the necklace behind and limped out of the forge.

Of the three paths that lead to the old volcano cave he had made into his forge, one lead up to the chambers he had received from Thetis. The other went to the common rooms that he shared with her, Eurynome and her daughters, the happiest place he had known growing up. And the third one lead up a long path, until it reached the estate of Tethys and Okeanos.

This was the way he took, with steady steps and cane in hand. The ancient, long-dried lava soon was replaced by light stone, and finally, he reached the tunnels of crystal, where Okeanos had replaced the outer wall of the tunnel with clear white crystal. It was a masterpiece of construction work, and Hephaestus had spent many days of his youth examining just how exactly Okeanos had made this vision come to life.

The little sunshine that reached this deep was caught and multiplied by the crystals. Spots of light glittered on the stone ground, moved by the waves of the dark blue water outside. Normally, he lingered here to marvel at the beauty. Today, he hurried through the corridors and the blunt noise of his steps echoed loudly from the walls. 

When he reached the first walls of marble, he slowed down, careful not to make a noise. Eurynome had been right, he should have stayed in the forge. But how could he, when his mother was right above his head?

It was not difficult to find out where they were. He heard the sisters’ laugh somewhere down the hallway, and he knew where Tethys tended to entertain her guests. Hephaestus only stopped when he could glance into the room, where the bright light of the sun flooded the halls, coloured blue by the ocean, and where Okeanos’ deep voice welcomed Hera into their house.

She looked like how he remembered her from the few times he had snuck up to such occasions, and like how she appeared to him in his dreams and nightmares. She was clad in gold and diamonds and her elaborate robes were adorned with long, colourful feathers. Her face was as fragile as it was stern, her red lips smiling but thin, her fingers fine and thin, but strong in their grip.

A crown of gold shone from her temples, covered in the brightest stones. At least in this, Hephaestus thought silently, she did not surpass her hosts. Even from his hiding place in the corridor, he could spot at least a dozen things the smith could have done better. This, at least, didn’t make him feel like he had just shrunk several inches.

He stayed there, unmoving, like he had been turned into a misshapen statue. He had heard her talk in her bright, lovely voice that could cut like knives, heard her laugh that didn’t seem to fit the icy picture he had of her. He stayed until she left and Eurynome spotted him standing there when she walked by the door. She gave him only a look, silent and full of pity. Hephaestus turned around and left without a word.

That night, he lay awake until Eos’ fingers touched the surface of the ocean again.

They had not mentioned him. Not even once. He shouldn’t be surprised, since Hera wasn’t one of the few who knew where he was. But Eurynome had admitted that she had told her about him, not where he was, but that she had seen him and knew he was doing well. She had apologised a thousand times, but it had been impossible for her to lie to her former foster sister for forever.

She could have asked, he thought. She could have asked where he was, and Eurynome would not have been able to lie, not for all these decades.

He could not close his eyes. He stared up, where he had fixed bronzed décor to the ceiling of his chamber and Aglaia had painted a mural of the giant whales he had marvelled at through the crystal walls.

He could not remember the pain he had felt when Hera had cast him from Olympus. He had been nothing but an infant when Thetis had found him sinking into the sea and taken him in, together with Eurynome and her daughters, who back then had been little more than children themselves. He could not remember if they had discussed the decision, if it had been hard to decide whether they should raise this ugly child or leave him to the waves, or if Thetis with her caring nature and kind-hearted Eurynome hadn’t even hesitated to accept him into their house.

He could only vaguely remember that for the first years, he had grown up believing that he belonged into this house. Thetis had never made it a secret that he was not her own son, but he had only later understood. She never told him why Hera had rejected him, but he could imagine it all too well by himself. How could the graceful Queen of the heavens love a lame, ugly child like he was?

So far, he had accepted it. He was fine, living with the Nymphs. But tonight, he stared up at the ceiling and found nothing but hatred for the woman who should have been his mother. She should have loved him, like Eurynome loved Pasithea’s pride and Aglaia’s clumsy jokes. She should have looked at him and accepted his ugliness, like Thetis had accepted it when she had decided to raise him.

Whatever had planted the seed, he could not remove it anymore. The flame of disgust Hera’s visit had sparked in him became a raging fire in this night. And in the morning light, it was so strong that Hephaestus almost leapt to his feet, holding onto his cane for dear life, and stumbled to his forge. The idea the hatred had spiked had rapidly become a plan, and he would not rest before he carried it out.

-

He worked for five days and five nights. He scratched messy plans on wax, erased them again when he found a flaw in his calculations, and reformed them until he finally had what he wanted.

He took all of the gold he could find, asked Thetis if she could bring him more, and melted all of it in the fire. He took gemstones, diamonds and rubies, crystals and sapphires, and used all of it to forge the best works of his life: two bows, one gold and one silver, along with matching arrows; a suit of armour, polished to blind its wearer’s opponent and strong enough to block a hundred spears; the head of a spear, made from the strongest iron and covered in pure gold. He took the best of what he had not yet gifted to anyone, tiaras and necklaces, swords and shields.

And finally, he built a throne. It was the most glorious throne anyone had ever seen, and it was made from pure gold. He forged the perfect copy of a peacock out of the gold, gave it diamonds as eyes and sapphire to adorn the feathers of its tail. He placed it on one side of the throne, looked panting at his work for a few moments, and turned back to the fire to give it a companion.

He spun fragile threads of gold and combined them to look like feathers, and he joined them together to cover the chair’s armrests. He put sapphires next to perfectly polished diamonds, he filled fine grooves in the gold with green agate. And when he thought it was perfect, he sat down and came up with a hundred things he could do to make it even better.

He didn’t sleep for days. His work was everything he saw. He didn’t notice Aglaia come into the forge before she was standing next to him, staring at the throne in awe.

“Is this your chair?” she asked.

For the first time in days, he turned away from the metals and gems. Aglaia was the only one he had told about his plans to build himself a chariot. It was still standing where he had last left it, gathering dust in a corner of the forge.

And Aglaia’s necklace, too, still sat on the workbench. He promised himself to finish it as soon as his plan was complete.

“It’s something else”, he simply answered. “A small project I have.”

“This does not look small.” Aglaia laughed. Sometimes, when she was beautiful like this, Hephaestus wondered whether she and her sisters would even talk to him if they hadn’t known him from his infant days.

“Maybe it’s a little bigger than usual,” he admitted, glancing at the pile of shining presents he had piled on a bronze table next to one of his iron ovens.

Aglaia looked over the throne again, then she turned to him and granted him the same look of awe she had given his work. “It’s so beautiful. The detail you put into this! Whoever you give it to must be the luckiest person in the world.”

He hesitated. “Maybe. It’s not finished.”

“It’s not finished?” Aglaia repeated, laughing. “This has to be a joke! It looks fantastic! Come on, tell me! Who are you giving this to? Because I might be jealous of them for centuries to come.”

“I’m still deciding,” Hephaestus lied. “It was just an idea. Listen, Aglaia.”

“Yes?”

It hurt to lie to her bright, gentle smile. “You cannot tell anyone about this. I tried to keep this a secret until I am ready to give it away. Promise me not to talk about it? Not even to your sisters.”

“I can keep you a secret.” She grinned. “Then I can manage not telling anyone about this gorgeous throne. If you want, I can keep the others out of the forge, too. It’s our secret, after all.”

Oh, how it hurt. She shouldn’t be his companion, not in this frankly terrible plan. But what choice did he have?

“Thank you,” he said. “I know I can rely on you.”

Her soft, brown cheeks flushed with red. “Of course. I’m just glad you are alright. We have been worrying about you, you haven’t come out of the forge in ages. And if I may say, you look tired.”

Hephaestus laughed in wonder. It was always a surprise that anyone could look at him long enough to even recognise a change in his features.

“I was preoccupied with this,” he said, gesturing at the throne. Now that the thought about it, his arms felt unnaturally heavy, and his movements were slow and shaky. “Maybe I should sleep.”

“Then I will not keep you up,” Aglaia said. She put a hand on his shoulder as a silent goodbye, and the sound of her light steps vanished as she disappeared down the corridor.

Hephaestus was left looking at the work he had done so far. If Aglaia liked it so much, it might almost be ready. He could sleep later, he decided, when he had finished the backrest. He only needed to add some small decorations, maybe he would be able to work a little on the seat as well. And then he would start on the chains.

-

Hephaestus looked at the pearl he had just added next to a piece of coral, shook his head and, sighing, proceeded to remove it. He had started on the necklace again, just after he had woken from his day-long sleep.

The presents he had sent to Olympus should by now be there. It was hard to concentrate when he was so anxiously waiting for something to happen. They would find out any moment now.

It didn’t take long. He had finally added the last pearl to the first chain of the necklace, when the clatter of hurried footsteps echoed from the corridor.

He turned around in anticipation, only to see Aglaia hasten through the forge’s gate.

“Hephaestus!” she called, her voice shaken. “I don’t know what is happening! Ares is here. He’s coming down here, Mother had to tell him where you are. They’re talking about Hera being bound, about treason?”

She reached the workbench, gasping for air. Her beautiful face was furrowed with worry. “I don’t understand! What is happening here?”

He looked at her, into her watery eyes, and opened his mouth, but the words were stuck in his throat.

Aglaia blinked the tears away. “Hephaestus”, she said again. “Did you bind Hera? Was that what the throne was for? You can tell me, I won’t give you away.”

The noise of heavy, striding steps made the words on the tip of his tongue disappear. He could hear Thetis’ panicked voice, but he could not make out her words. The deep voice of a man answered her, loud and sharp. Hephaestus didn’t need to understand what he said to know that he was furious.

Ares burst into the forge with his sword drawn. Hephaestus would have recognised him instantly, even without Aglaia’s words. He was clad in armour, not nearly as elaborate and well-made as the one Hephaestus had sent to Olympus for him, but he didn’t need good armour to be intimidating. He was so tall even Aglaia looked tiny next to him. His shoulders were broad, his legs strong and fast, and under thick, black brows, his eyes were burning with rage.

Aglaia took a step to the left, as if to cover Hephaestus with her own fragile body, just as Thetis came hurried through the gate.

“You don’t harm him!” she shouted. “If you harm him, I swear on the waters of cruel Styx I will unleash every force on this Earth and beyond on you!”

“Shut up,” Ares growled. “I’ve been sent from Olympus, and I’ll do what I was sent to do. And you!” he bellowed at Aglaia. “Get out of my way!”

Aglaia didn’t even tremble. She simply stood there, her lips pursed and hands balled into fists. Hephaestus sighed, grabbed his cane and limped around his workbench to stand in front of her.

“What do you want?” he asked.

Ares lowered his sword. “You’re even uglier than I imagined,” he snarled. “You know what I want. You have bound Hera with your treacherous present! Tell me, what curses did you speak over the others? Will my armour burn off my skin if I put it on? Will Artemis’ pretty golden arrows pierce her own head?”

“No”, Hephaestus said simply. “They are presents. Hera’s is the only one that is cursed.”

Ares didn’t move. “Swear!” he demanded.

“I swear by the waters of Styx.”

Hephaestus stood still, though his heart thundered against his chest. He dared to glance away from Ares and at Thetis, who was staring at him in shock.

His head snapped back when Ares spoke again.

“Then come, blacksmith”, he growled. “Free your mother from her chains, as it is your duty as her son!”

“Hera didn’t give me the impression that she thought of me as her son,” Hephaestus replied. His grip on his cane tightened when Ares raised his sword again, but he did not move.

“Then you will do it as your duty to your Queen,” Ares said. “And you will do it now, if you don’t want me to add some scars to your ugly face!”

Instinctively, Hephaestus took a step back. His shoulder bumped into Aglaia, who had taken a step forward. Thetis strode right in front of Ares and grabbed him by the collar of his cape.

“You heard me before!” she yelled straight into his face. “One wound on his body, and I will make sure that you’ll be cast from Olympus even harsher than he was! Zeus owes me a few favours, and I will not hesitate to use them for this!”

“Thetis,” Hephaestus said and limped forward. “Leave him, I can defend myself.”

Hesitantly, Thetis lowered her arms, but her glare stayed fixed on Ares, who broke into laughter.

“Can you?” he grinned. “With that leg of yours? That’s something I want to see!”

Hephaestus’ hand twitched towards the sledgehammer that was resting against the wall, just a few steps from him. If he could reach it before Ares reached him, he could be fast enough to hit his armour where it was weakest, and crack it with one blow.

He had already made a step aside, but he froze instantly. Even Ares flinched at Aglaia’s high-pitched scream.

“Tell me what is going on!” Suddenly, all eyes were on her. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. “What is all this about? I don’t understand! Tell me!”

“Oh, it’s my pleasure!” Ares spat. “Your little friend here has gifted Hera a throne! Stunning craftwork, that I have to admit. And a vile little plan! She’s stuck on it now, caught in golden chains nobody is able to loosen!” He snapped back to Hephaestus. “Nobody but you! I’ve been sent to bring you to Olympus, but as it seems, you are as stubborn as you are ugly!”

Hephaestus held his glare. He wouldn’t move for threats, he decided. When he had forged the throne, he had not thought about the prize he would demand to reverse the curse, only about his revenge on Hera. But now, he realised, he could ask for anything. They were helpless without his craftsmanship. Hera was bound, and she would stay bound if he didn’t agree to free her.

What did he want?

“Move!” Ares shouted again. “Don’t make me drag you up to Olympus in pieces!”

“That’s enough!” Thetis thundered. Her eyes were glowing, and a gloomy mist rose up at her feet. “Leave my house, Ares Warmonger, before I make my threats come true! I am sure Hephaestus is willing to negotiate, I certainly am, but I will not stand this kind of behaviour in my halls!”

“Then you should not be giving him refuge!” Ares yelled, but he finally turned around and strode out of the forge. “I will make you free Hera,” he called. “And if it is the last thing I do!”

“That’s what it will be if you continue shouting in my house!” Thetis growled. She followed Ares out of the gates, and both their voices continued bellowing their threats as they strode down the corridor.

Finally, Hephaestus dared to move again. He limped over to Aglaia, who was still trembling, although her tears had dried.

“Is it true?” she asked. “Did you make the throne as a trap for Hera?”

“I did,” Hephaestus said. “And I don’t regret it. Although you shouldn’t have been dragged into this.”

To his surprise, Aglaia shook her head. “I don’t mind. She threw you from Olympus. I saw you after Thetis had found you, the condition you were in. I’m not saying it’s right, but you have a reason for this.” She didn’t leave him any time to answer, she just sighed and finally let her arms drop to her side. “I wonder what they are going to do? I have never seen Ares this angry! Normally, he isn’t like that, not even when something upsets him.”

It was hard to believe that about the God of war, but Hephaestus didn’t question it.

“We’re going to see”, he said and limped back to the chair behind his workbench. The pearls had not been moved. Hephaestus stared at them, as if they were the key to the answer he needed.

What did he want?

-

Ares did not return. Instead, when Hephaestus was called into the entrance hall of Eurynome’s house, he found Hermes floating two inches above the ground and talking to Thetis.

“Ah, Hephaestus.” He greeted him as soon as he stepped into the room.

He had met Hermes before, although only once and they had never spoken more than a few words. That didn’t help at all, though. If anything, it made him even more irritating.

“Hermes has come as a messenger from Olympus,” Thetis said. Behind her, Eurynome had her arms crossed before her chest. Her daughters stood around her, watching intently.

“Indeed I have!” Hermes said. “I am here to read the offer Zeus and Hera are making you.”

Hephaestus blinked. “An offer?”

“Of course!” The little wings on Hermes’ helmet and shoes flapped and drew Hephaestus’ attention away from his words. How did they work? Intrigued, he limped closer, hoping to be able to observe their mechanism.

It was difficult to see, with their constant moving and Hermes’ message that he had to listen to.

“Zeus and Hera have spoken to each other,” he announced, “and they have decided on what they are willing to give you if you free your mother from her chains. Are you listening to me?”

“Hm?” Hephaestus tore his eyes away from the wings. “Yes. Of course.”

“Good.” A little smirk appeared on Hermes’ lips, and as if to provoke him, the wings fluttered faster. “Here is their offer: You will be offered a place on Olympus. Not only that, if you prove to be worthy, you might take one of the twelve thrones that might soon” – he cleared his throat – “become vacant. They have seen your work and have agreed that a skilled blacksmith like you can be of great use to the Gods, and should be cherished. Hera insists that this should be part of the offer, but Zeus is so far doubtful. So prepare to prove yourself.”

He gave Hephaestus a grin when he stared at him in disbelief. Behind Thetis’ back, the sisters exchanged hushed, excited words. Being invited to live on Olympus alone was a great offer, especially for him, who had been thrown from the very mountain. A throne, however, was the greatest honour one could receive. Not something offered to a mere blacksmith – it was obvious that Hermes’ words were more serious than he let on. He would have to work hard for this before he could claim one of the twelve thrones.

And yet he wasn’t sure if he was willing to do so. No matter how much they liked his works, he would be a joke amongst the strong and beautiful Gods. Here, below the sea, he could stay hidden from their judging eyes.

“Furthermore,” Hermes continued, “you shall receive a new forge.”

At this, Hephaestus had to laugh. “Nothing is wrong with my current one.”

“I know, I know. But,” Hermes said. “They are offering you far more! An entire volcano shall be yours. You will have space for everything. Your own house shall be built inside the mountain. And the Kyklopes took one look at your works and agreed to help you with your craft. So this is what you gain: A house, the best forge in the world, and the best assistants. As long, of course, as you agree to take commissions from Olympus.”

“So they want me to work for them,” Hephaestus said.

“Technically, yes.” Hermes shrugged. “But it won’t be much. And it’s still a great deal. And this takes me to the last part of the offer!”

“There is more?” Hephaestus wondered. What Hermes had said was already more than he had ever expected.

“Oh, there is.” The wings were fluttering so fast now that they should be taking Hermes up to the ceiling, but he stayed where he was. Maybe they worked on magic rather than mechanics.

“The last part of the offer,” Hermes said, “is the hand of glorious Aphrodite. Yes, you heard me correctly,” he laughed when Hephaestus stared at him, dumbstruck. “If you return to Olympus and free your mother, the Goddess of beauty shall be your wife. Now, what do you say? Do you take the offer?”

The time it took Hephaestus to answer was not the time he needed to decide, but the time he needed to find his voice again. He would have agreed to unchain Hera after the first part of the offer, whether he would have taken it or not. But this, this settled it. If Aphrodite was part of this offer, he had to take it. There was no doubt in the world.

“I will come to Olympus as soon as I can,” he said.

Hermes’ grin widened. “I knew you would say that. We will be waiting for you. And be quick, Hera really doesn’t enjoy her current situation.”

With that, he bowed before Thetis and Eurynome, let his wings carry him up and dashed through the gates, fast as lightning.

Across the room, Aglaia’s cheeks lost their colour.

-

Hephaestus had only once in his life spoken to Aphrodite, but he had seen her a thousand times. She was close friends with the three sisters, and she visited them so often that one might have thought her one of them.

The sisters, of course, were in rank below Aphrodite, and since the three were also minor goddesses of beauty and grace, they were Aphrodite’s attendants as well as her friends. And as equally as they spoke, as subtle as the differences between them were, Aphrodite was undoubtedly in lead of everything they did.

The first time Hephaestus had seen her, her beauty had stunned him. That the world that had born him had also brought forth such a graceful being seemed incredible to him. She was more gorgeous even than the sisters, who back then had been his ultimate image of beauty. From her, he hid even more carefully than from anyone else. His face, he feared, would in itself be an insult to her.

But he could not stay away. When she visited, and he walked past the room she and the sisters had graced with their presence, he lingered for a few moments, watching them secretly through the door.

Once he had learnt more about smithery, he had tried to recreate her beauty in jewels. He spun pearls, silver and gold together, adorned them with crystals and gems, but nothing could come even close to the art that was Aphrodite’s every feature.

It was her beauty that inspired him even more than the sisters did, or Thetis’ strength, or the wonderful crystal tunnels Okeanos had made. It was her beauty that followed him into his dreams and that haunted him when he glanced into a mirror. And her beauty might have been a part of what he fell in love with.

And yet, the moment he started to love more than her looks was the moment she first spoke to him.

He had not been careful enough, or maybe it had just been fated to happen eventually. He ran into her as she was walking a corridor in Eurynome’s house. The sisters trailed behind her, laughing about a joke she had made, and it was too late to jump aside.

Her smile fell when she saw him, and for a moment, just a tiny moment, he could see disgust in her eyes. Then, Aglaia stepped forward and smiled at him.

“Oh, Hephaestus! It’s good that we ran into you! Let us introduce Aphrodite to you!”

Hephaestus shot her a grateful smile, just as Pasithea took Aphrodite by the arm and said, “He is Thetis’ secret foster son. The one who made us all the wonderful jewellery, do you remember?”

And then, Aphrodite did the one thing he had never expected her to do. She smiled at him, with all her beauty and all her warmth, and said, “How could I forget? It’s a pleasure to meet you. I would be honoured if you decided to make some jewellery for me, too, in case you take commissions.”

Later, he could only remember that they had talked, not what they had talked about. But what he remembered clearly was the absolute honestly in Aphrodite’s kind words, how real and warm her smile had been, and how she had treated him just like anyone else, not like the man that was so ugly that not even his own mother could bear to look at his face. And for one moment, he had almost felt beautiful.

He spent nights sleepless, trying to create something that could match Aphrodite’s gorgeous face and her kind heart, but every time he believed to have come close, he thought of her gracefulness again and threw his works into the fire. He never managed to give her the jewellery she had asked for, and they never truly spoke again. Sometimes, they met and greeted each other briefly, and sometimes, he listened to her voice when she and the sisters were in a room close to him.

He silently laughed at her jokes, caught what he could of the discussions she had with the sisters, and he knew that he would never be able to reach her, even though with every word, he fell in love with her a little more. She was a dream, too far away to even touch.

-

As the sun reached its highest point, Hephaestus was back in his forge and dragged with heavy breaths the wheeled chair from where he had abandoned it. He believed to have seen enough of the wings on Hermes’ helmet and shoes to recreate something similar, something bigger, something even stronger and better.

What better occasion would there be to use this invention than his ascend to Olympus? He could not only cover up his limp, the chariot would be so beautiful that nobody would notice the ugly man it carried. It would be worthy of one of the Twelve, if Zeus decided to bless him with this honour.

He gathered the rest of the gold he had, melted it and forged the images of cranes, so carefully polished that they shone bright as the sun. He put rubies in their eyes and on the wheels of the chair, red as the flames that surrounded him. The iron, he covered in bronze and gold, until the entire chair matched the cranes in beauty, and then he fused the birds to the sides of the backrest. Then, when finally the chariot was perfect in his eyes, he scrambled to his workbench and copied the plans he had made in his head to the wax of his board.

He forged the wings with greater care than anything before. They had to carry him, further than he had gone in his life. They had to be the most reliable thing he had created in his life, even better than the armour and the helmets he had made.

He gave them an infallible mechanism that he mixed with all the magic he knew. Finally, his passion for the art of spells and curses proved useful, and when the sun sunk into the sea in the West, the wings were beating by themselves on his workbench.

He gave them feathers of gold that matched those of the cranes, and finally fastened them to the chariot with fire and magic alike, a connection that could never break. When he finally stood back to regard his work, he caught eye of a pearl that had fallen from his workbench.

Slowly, he picked it up and turned around. The necklace was lying peacefully on the wood, untouched since Ares had interrupted his work on it.

Pearls and corals. It had been meant for Aglaia, but it would fit the foamborn Aphrodite just as well. If she would become his bride, he thought, it would be the least he could do to shower her in bridal gifts. And if one could not match her beauty, he would give her dozens and never stop making them.

This newfound determination, this miracle that had happened to him gave him the strength to work through the night. In the morning, the pearls and corals on the necklace were in perfect harmony, and they were only a tiny part of the pile of metals and gems he had forged together to create the most perfect jewellery he could make. He had made her bracelets and half a dozen more necklaces, and two shining crowns, one adorned with shells and pearls, the other with garnet and diamond.

He took it all with him to the waiting chair, shouldered his sledgehammer, and ordered the wings to let him fly.

-

From afar, Olympus looked like the finest jewel the Earth could create. It shone so bright in the sunlight that only upon a third glance could Hephaestus make out roofs, pillars and gates, made from snow-white marble, polished silver and glittering crystal. Light gold covered some of the roofs, carried by ornamented pillars. Even the wide squares and places in between the palaces had grounds made of marble. In their middles, he spotted golden fountains with statues of dolphins, eagles and other various birds, and the water flowing from their noses and beaks was so clear it was almost colourless.

Giant statues stood around the places, and they guarded the gates of the houses also. Hephaestus could not recognise the faces, but he bowed his head in respect every time his chariot passed one of them.

And on the highest point of the mountain, the palace of Olympus towered over everything. It was by far the highest of the houses, and its decorations put every other place to shame. Golden statues, bejewelled reliefs that showed the most famous deeds of the Gods that reigned over this place, bright shining gates made of pure gold.

They were opened for him, and as the wings softly lowered his chariot to the ground, he took a deep breath, so not to stare in utter awe at the faces that were now turned towards him.

The Gods of Olympus had gathered in their great hall. Their colourful robes stood out against the white marble walls, but they themselves seemed to shine even more than the place they called their home.

He saw the glorious twins of Leto, Artemis and Apollo, standing side by side and speaking whispered words to each other. Gentle Hestia, whose smile warmed the entire room, and Poseidon, the Earthshaker, whose royal wife was a sister of Thetis. Beautiful, strong Athena, who watched him enter the hall with her wise, grey eyes.

Not many of them were missing. Demeter, who they said only visited Olympus when it was absolutely necessary, was absent. So was Ares, a face Hephaestus truly did not miss, and Aphrodite too was nowhere to be seen.

In the middle of the hall stood Zeus, the most impressive figure of them all. His sky-blue eyes pierced Hephaestus with their looks as he let his chariot roll towards him. In his hand, he held his lightning-shaped sceptre, the flawless work of the Kyklopes.

But it wasn’t him who caught Hephaestus’ attention. Next to her husband, on the golden throne Hephaestus had built for her, sat Hera, still as stone. She blinked, once, when Hephaestus entered the hall, but she did not move a finger. Around her chest, her waist, her white arms and her neck, a fine golden chain kept her in place, seated with her back straight, worthy of a Queen.

Zeus spoke, but Hephaestus’ gaze always strayed back to his bound mother.

“Welcome, son of my wife,” Zeus said. “Who chose to grant you forgiveness even for this treason. Keep in mind that it was her who insisted we give you a chance to return and make your deeds undone. I do not appreciate being deceived, and I am far from forgetting about this affair. But Hera’s offers are mine also. You have come to accept them, I take?”

Even in his wonderful chair, Hephaestus felt like he had shrunk to the size of a mouse. Zeus was even more intimidating than he had ever imagined. His voice was deep and growling like the thunder that accompanied his terrible lightning, and he seemed tall enough to reach the clouds. The glare he shot Hephaestus was indeed far from forgiving.

“I greet you, Zeus, Cloudgatherer,” Hephaestus said. He had rehearsed these words so often that he did not need to think about them. “King of the Gods. You are right, I come to free my mother from her chains and claim what you have kindly offered me.”

Every other word was stuck in his throat. Had Zeus asked him one more thing, he would not have been able to speak.

But all he said was, “Then free her. She has been bound long enough.”

Hephaestus lowered his head in respect. He would have to leave his chair to walk over to his mother’s throne, he realised, and he cursed himself when he remembered his cane that was still leaning in his forge in the depths of the sea.

He tried to swallow down the knot in his throat and reached for his mallet. He dragged it to the ground before him and gathered the strength to push himself up. The whispers of the Gods around him seemed awfully loud in this nearly empty hall.

Finally, he found the courage to look up at his mother. Her features were still unreadable, her thoughts hidden away from the rest of the world. She looked like one of the statues that decorated the halls of Olympus. She moved so little she might just as well have been made of stone.

But she spoke. She looked at him with her unmoving eyes, and he believed to hear something like warmth in her voice.

“Welcome,” she said. “I am glad you decided to listen to our offer.”

Hephaestus would have greeted her, too, but his voice was still gone. The effort to stand up took his breath away for a moment, and he had to close his eyes against the dizziness that took over his head. Without his cane, he had to use his hammer to lean on and push himself forward. Behind him, the Gods whispered again, and quiet laughter pierced through him like tiny needles.

Hephaestus clenched his jaw and tightened his grip around his mallet. His foot found a secure stand on the marble floor, and with all the strength the work in the forge had given him, he swung up his hammer and let it crash down on the chains. Once. Twice. One chain after the other broke, crashed to pieces by the force of this hammer, and the skill of its owner, who knew precisely where he had to hit the chains to break their curse.

One last time, he brought the hammer down to break the chain around Hera’s wrist. Then, he took a step back and watched with wide eyes how the golden chains fell from Hera’s shoulders and disappeared before they hid the ground, as the Queen of Olympus rose in all her glory.

“Thank you,” she said. “This, frankly, was a dreadful episode. I suggest that we move past it as quickly as possible.”

Hephaestus hesitated. This was still the woman who had flung him from Olympus because she could not bring herself to love her misshapen son. But had Zeus not said that it had been Hera who had insisted to make him an offer? That she had come up with the idea to offer him a place amongst the Twelve, the assistance of the Kyklopes and the hand of Aphrodite, and had defended these plans even in front of Zeus himself?

What was she now to him, after she had given him such a glorious welcome?

What did he want her to be?

“You know the honours you will receive from us,” she continued. And still, she spoke without showing a single emotion. “You are welcome to join us on Olympus, you will be brought to your new home and forge, and we will prepare your wedding with lovely Aphrodite. In return,” she added, and at last, she bent her lips in a graceful smile, “I will keep this throne as my own.”

“And this shall be your first work for Olympus,” Zeus said. He had stepped closer again, his arms crossed and looming over Hephaestus. His voice was grim, a stark contrast to Hera, who had seemed almost gentle with her last words.

“You will build a throne for each of the Twelve and for my brother, the King of the Underworld,” he continued. “They have to be as elaborate as the one you made for my wife. The ones we currently have need to be replaced, and I believe we will have to add one, too, since Hades demanded one for his wife.”

“I think Persephone demanded that one for herself,” Hera said lightly. “And Hades simply agreed with her request. But yes, this is the first order we have for you. Do you still agree with our offer?”

As subtly as he could, Hephaestus cleared his throat, to finally recover his voice.

“Yes, I do”, he said, and thanked the stars that he did not sound hoarse.

“Good”, Hera said. Her eyes lingered on him for one moment longer than necessary, then she turned away and clapped her hands. “Then we shall have a banquet, to welcome you to Olympus.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is this absolutely fantastic version of this myth where Dionysus gets Hephaestus drunk and brings him to Olympus. I spent an entire week desperately trying to figure out how the hell this timeline is supposed to work, before I gave up. Dionysus is the grandson of Harmonia. Harmonia was not born and definitely not married yet when Hephaestus and Aphrodite got married. Either there is another version of the myth that I didn't find, or Dionysus can time travel.


	2. The Golden Cage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahem. Hi. Skip this if you're just interested in reading the thing, but I feel like I owe shiniestqueen (especially), Yuletide and everyone else an explanation for why this took so long. First, let me tell you that I am genuinely sorry. I shouldn't have started on a project this big in the first place with close to no time to work on it and in the position I was in. That's entirely my mistake.  
> Now, this has been done since Yuletide. I finished it, like, three days after, in my all-nighter-pulling temporary madness. The reason I didn't post it is that I don't have a beta, and that English is not my first language. I edited it myself now, so there might be some mistakes. Be warned. :P  
> On top of that, I chose the worst year possible to participate in Yuletide. I'm working on a novel, which obviously has been my priority No. 1 when it comes to writing. I did a W&T in Japan, and due to that I had a lot going on over the past months. I had the worst possible accommodation and got close to no rest, hence I was practically dead to the world 24/7. (I still am, actually, I don't really know what's wrong with me yet.) It was a stressful time. Now that I'm back home and have some free time, I decided to tackle the monster and finish this.  
> And with this, I will stop talking and let you read the thing.

The wedding was a splendid feast. Olympus was crowded; every God, every Nymph and minor deity who was allowed in the shining halls of the palace had been invited to the feast. All forty-nine of Thetis’ sisters accompanied their leader to the mountain, amongst them Amphitrite, royal wife of Poseidon, who arrived with her husband in a giant, horse-drawn chariot.

Eurynome came with her daughters and the Okeanides, and even Tethys and Okeanos, who seldom set foot outside their ocean realm, climbed up to the mountaintop for the occasion.

All Twelve were present, even Demeter, who with her dark eyes and tall shape was almost as intimidating as her King and brother. Her daughter, lovely Persephone, came too, arm in arm with her grim husband. Hades ended up leaving early, shortly after the guests had dined in the hall, but Thetis assured Hephaestus that it was a great honour that he had come at all.

Hephaestus didn’t tell her that the honour was probably less directed at him and more at his newly-wedded wife. Beloved Aphrodite, the Goddess who had been wooed by almost every soul on Olympus, was getting married. It had to be the greatest sensation the Gods had seen in centuries.

For many of them, it was the first time to see Hephaestus at all. They made a large effort to conceal it, but he noticed their shock and their disgust at his form in the moments of hesitation it took them to take his hand, the shaky smiles and the gazes they turned to the ground.

Pasithea later told him off for staying in a corner of the hall at his very own wedding, but it was difficult enough to ignore the whispers all around the room if he didn’t have to look into the eyes of those who spoke them. They talked in hushed words about Aphrodite’s reluctance to agree to this marriage and silently pitied her, because who in the world would want to marry a deformed blacksmith? Hephaestus lost count of the times he heard the words “poor Aphrodite”, spoken with a shake of the head and a brief, disdainful look in his direction.

Some of them made no secret of their disapproval. Artemis glared at him from across the room, her eyes as sharp and piercing as her arrows. Persephone was one of the few who did not hesitate to shake his hand and smile at him, but when it came to congratulating him on his marriage, she became tight-lipped and cold. Ares avoided Hephaestus at all cost, which Hephaestus could not have been more relieved about. They did not talk once, nor did they look at each other, but Hephaestus sometimes felt his fiery glare drill holes into the back of his head.

In the end, he stayed with those he knew and had gotten to know since his arrival on Olympus. Hestia was one of the latter. She had welcomed him in the ranks of the Gods without questions, and had taken it upon herself to not only introduce Hephaestus to the rules and customs of Olympus, but also to his wedding guests. He was immensely grateful for the little woman with the kind, round face. If it hadn’t been for her, he would likely have spent the entire wedding in his little corner of old friends.

Thetis stayed with him for almost the whole evening, whenever her sisters let her escape from their dances. Eurynome and her daughters sat with them too, although the three sisters soon joined the festivities. Euphrosyne disappeared first; the second sister was as drawn to the crowd as moths were to light. Aglaia was the last to stay. She had been silent thorough the whole night, ever since she had congratulated Hephaestus and Aphrodite with kisses on both their cheeks. She hurried after her sisters with a smile in Hephaestus’ direction, and did not return until the end of the celebrations.

One of Thetis’ sisters took her place, and another joined them after she had left, and it went on like this. One after the other, Gods and Goddesses came to their table to share a few words and a few nips of Ambrosia with them. They eyed Hephaestus with a mixture of disgust and intrigue, like children would with a worm in the mud. He forced himself to smile at them, one after the other, and tried to remember the names that went with the pretty faces.

The one person he did not get the chance to truly speak to was the very woman he was celebrating his marriage to. Aphrodite had disappeared shortly after they had greeted their guests together, and since then, Hephaestus had only a few times succeeded in finding her lovely face amidst the crowd.

One time, he had found her talking to Persephone and Pasithea, but they had gone back to dancing before he could make it across the room. Another time, she was vigorously talking to Ares, of all people, and Hephaestus did not even try to join them.

When the moon stood high above the halls of Olympus, he finally rose from his chair in the corner of the hall and announced that he would go to find his wife. Under the worried looks of Hestia and Thetis, he made his way through the crowd, away from the ever-changing company at the table.

Heads turned and fervent conversations stopped when he limped by. The smell of Ambrosia hung thick and disgustingly sweet in the air, and the music of the dances rang in his ears. The crowd was a vortex of bodies and voices around him, swallowing him whole. His shoulders were tense, his hand again grasping his cane, and Aphrodite was nowhere to be seen.

It took him an embarrassingly short while to get frustrated with the search. Then, he started to ask amongst the Gods whether one of them had seen her. Most of them denied that, others gave him vague instructions to where she had last shown up, and all of them looked after him in either scorn or pity when he limped away.

Eris finally dared to say to his face what they all were thinking. She must have overheard him asking Athena for advice, and her laughter interrupted the reluctant answer. Her feet were the first thing he saw, clad in silver shoes, when she slowly landed in between them. Huge black wings were spread behind her back, looming over them and making Eris twice as tall as she actually was.

“Look at this,” she sneered. “Poor hobbler, can’t even find your wife at your own wedding. Well, I’m not surprised. I’d have fled too from such an unfortunate union. I can only pity her that she has to spend a whole wedding night with you! Oh dear, I’d rather cut off my own head!”

“That would spare us a lot of trouble, Eris,” Athena muttered.

Hephaestus held onto his cane and unflinchingly held Eris’ gaze. “The marriage was arranged by Zeus and Hera themselves, it cannot be that unfortunate.”

A wide, cruel grin spread over Eris’ face, and she broke into hysteric giggles. “And why would you think that? That you can tie pretty stones to gold doesn’t make up for the abomination that is your face, do you know that?”

“I think that is enough,” Athena said sternly, but Hephaestus cut her off.

“I’m aware of how I look, Lady Strife,” he growled. “But your pretty face cannot conceal how ugly you are underneath – you carry the grimace of a monster, maybe you should not mock people for their looks.”

Over Eris’ shoulders, he could see a tiny smile on Athena’s thin lips. But Eris’ grin only grew and uncovered her white canine teeth.

In her icy cold singsong, she said, “And you think that you are any prettier? When all we’ve ever seen you do is chain your mother to a chair, and force the Goddess of love into a marriage she never agreed to?”

The handle of his cane bent under the force of his grip. He searched for Athena’s grey eyes, but she had lowered her head and was looking at the ground. It was the same look Thetis had given him when he had announced his engagement to Aphrodite to her, and so similar to the one that had been on Aglaia’s face for the whole evening.

“It is true,” Eris sang. “And you know it!”

Irritated, Hephaestus shook his head. It was not true. Zeus had offered him Aphrodite’s hand and he had taken it out of love and nothing else. It was a legitimate wedding. He answered Eris’ mocking grin with a glare of his own.

“If you are only here to criticise, I’d be pleased to see you go.”

Like a snake stirred by footsteps, Eris leant forward and hissed. “Are you trying to throw me out?”

“It would make this dance far more enjoyable,” Athena said. “You are being insufferable.”

“Oh!” Eris laughed. She snapped around, her wings spread and ready to take her off the ground. “As if you agree with all this! Don’t make a fool out of yourself.”

“If I agree or not is not the matter here. Your behaviour is inappropriate, and your commentary is infeasible for the guests of a wedding,” Athena said without missing a beat. She stood calm and steady, unmoved by Eris’ cackling, and nailed the Goddess before her to the ground with a mere look.

Then, rather suddenly, something behind Eris caught her interest. She cocked her head up and allowed Eris to doge under her relentless stare. A wave of relief washed over her features.

“If you want to complain about this wedding, do so to the ones who arranged it,” she said, in the very moment Hera stepped into their circle.

She was magnificent in her glory. For the celebrations, long peacock feathers stood up from her collar and towered over her head. Her silken gown shone in royal blue. Around her temples lay beads of pure gold, twisted up into an elaborate net of coils that spun into her hair and around shining blue sapphires. The finest golden strands adorned her forehead, just above her thin eyebrows over shining green eyes. In her presence, the chatting voices and the beat of music seemed distant, insignificant compared to her mere breathing.

“Is there a problem?” she asked.

“Eris has decided that it is her time of the day to cause trouble,” Athena sighed.

“Yes, I heard so.” Hera gave Hephaestus a fleeting gaze, too fast for him to truly look at her. Again, any emotion she might have had stayed hidden behind her façade.

Given that it was a façade. By now, Hephaestus wondered whether Hera was capable of feeling anything, or if the cold heart that had cast him from Olympus had simply been part of a beautiful, but unfeeling statue of a woman.

Under her strict eyes, even Eris’ mocking grin vanished. “I was just talking to the bridegroom,” she said.

“And what did you tell him, I wonder?” There was poison in Hera’s voice. “Zeus and I have arranged this marriage. Do you wish to doubt us?”

Eris gave her a sly smile. “Of course not, my Queen. I was just wondering about some things. Is it better if I leave?”

“I believe so.”

With a last smirk towards Hephaestus, Eris spread her wings. Their strong beats let the feathers on Hera’s collar sway in the wind. She flew up, until she almost reached the arched ceiling of the hall, and landed on top of an ornamented pillar. There, she crouched like a bird of prey waiting for a fitting meal.

“Excuse Eris,” Hera said. The small, tight smile had returned to her lips. “She has a habit of making people uncomfortable by all means. She should be put on a leash and kept in a cage, if you ask me.”

“I could not word it better,” Athena agreed. She had closed her eyes in agony and was massaging her temples. “We should just stop inviting her.”

“I could build her a cage,” Hephaestus muttered. “And chains to go with it. A net to catch her too, if it’s necessary.”

He startled when at his side, Hera broke into clear, bright laughter. He stared at her in shock, he had not thought her to be capable of laughing. And indeed he found no joy in it. It was the forced kind of laughter, a counterfeit of emotion rather than genuine amusement. On Athena’s face was a light scowl.

Hera herself did not seem to notice the awkwardness that hovered between them. She simply let her laughter trail off and fell back into her stone-like composure. Only her thin smile remained.

“I have heard that you are looking for Aphrodite,” she said.

Hephaestus nodded in surprise. “I am.”

“Let me look with you,” Hera offered. “It should not take too long.”

“It really shouldn’t,” Athena said. “I believe I have seen her leave for the gardens, just a moment before Eris interrupted us.”

“Then let us look for her there,” Hera decided.

She nodded to Athena and strode forward. The dense crowd parted immediately for the Queen, leaving a perfectly clear path for her to walk. A curl of her hair fell from her crown as she turned around. It fell over her temple and dangled there, a lonely mishap on a work of art. Silently, she waited for him.

With his jaw clenched, Hephaestus bid his goodbyes to Athena. The clunk of his cane against the marble floor was embarrassingly loud compared to Hera’s swift, almost floating movements. Hephaestus limped after her, as fast as he could to keep up with her strides.

He refused to look into her eyes, even as she cleared her throat and started to congratulate him again on his wedding.

“Thank you,” he answered simply. “Aphrodite’s hand was a generous offer.”

She smiled, and changed the topic. She spoke of the detail of the throne he had made for her, the one she was still in awe of, she said, despite the treacherous intentions of its creation. She loved how lively the statues of the peacocks looked, how fine their feathers were. But there was no awe in her voice when she described it. There was nothing, only polite emptiness.

Hephaestus had to admit that his answers to her were just as empty. It was strange to talk to her naturally, when at his very core, he still hated her.

He took a deep breath of relief when they reached the gate to the gardens. Finally, he could see further than a few steps without looking at the back of a head, or a perfectly formed face. The guests were scattered here. In small groups, they were standing around the snow white statues and small pavilions. Their laughter was light here in the cold air of the night.

“The Kyklopes have made these pavilions,” Hera said. She, too, sounded clearer here. “I believe you have met them?”

Hephaestus answered as a matter of fact, while he scanned the gardens for a sign of Aphrodite. He had met them indeed, they were fantastic craftsmen. Hera smiled tightly in return, and buried her pale, ring-clad hand in the folds of her skirt.

They found Aphrodite alone, in one of the pavilions. She was leaning against a pillar and absentmindedly stared at the red roses that climbed up the white marble. She didn’t look happy, but neither did she look sad, and she smiled when Hephaestus greeted her.

“Good evening,” she said and bowed her head before Hera. “It’s terribly loud in there, isn’t it? And you can barely breathe next to all these people. I needed some fresh air.”

“It is too crowded,” Hephaestus agreed.

Aphrodite gave him another smile that made his heart leap up. The rubies of a necklace he had made for her twinkled on her chest, red on white, like the roses on the marble.

Hera seemed out of place here. Without the crowd she could reign over and the darkness dulling her colours, Aphrodite effortlessly outshone her in grace and glory. Maybe she sensed it, and this was the reason she pursed her dark lips.

“One would expect,” she said, “the bride to be present at her wedding to entertain her guests.”

There was no hostility in her words. Aphrodite smiled back and nodded. And yet, the air prickled with tension.

“I know, I apologise. I will return to the hall in a moment,” Aphrodite said. “But if I may have a moment with my husband?”

Hephaestus cleared his throat, and Hera’s eyes were back on him in an instant.

“That’s what we came here for, isn’t it?” he said.

“Yes, of course.” Unconsciously, Hera raised her hand to her temple and finally brushed aside the loose lock. Her smile hardened and she turned back to Aphrodite. “Stay as long as you like. It has been a long night.”

“Thank you,” Aphrodite said.

“There is no need to thank me,” Hera answered. Neither of them sounded genuine. “It is a special day for you, after all. I trust that you will be a perfect match for my son.”

“I trust so too.” As if to prove her point, Aphrodite reached out and put her light hand on Hephaestus’ arm. The cold night hat robbed her skin of its warmth, but Hephaestus winced as if her fingers were hot iron.

Hera gave both of them a satisfied smile and took a step back. “I will go and look after the guests, then.”

Her robes fluttered after her as she left the garden with floating steps and disappeared through the gates of the hall. The tense pain in Hephaestus’ chest only eased when she was finally out of sight.

-

Aphrodite did not love him. She kissed him, yes, she smiled and she laughed with him, and in the first night, it was her who took him by the hand and dragged him into the bedroom. But she did not love him. That didn’t come as a surprise.

Frankly, he would have suspected betrayal if she had adored him with the same passion he had for her. She had no reason to love him other than that he tried to treat her as well as he could. After all, she had spoken to him once before their engagement, and he had no stunning beauty that could have captured her interest.

At first, Hephaestus was terribly paranoid that she might hate him. Eris’ words at the wedding had left their scars. For the first months, he scanned her every movement for signs of loathing or even mere dislike, and his search was frighteningly fruitful.

She was gentle, as she always was, because her nature was just as beautiful as her form. But she often left early in the morning and only returned in the late evening hours, long after Hephaestus had abandoned his forge in favour of sleep. He brought up the courage to ask her about this later, much later, when she had already changed her ways a little and had made it a habit to have breakfast with him every morning.

She said that it was not the heat or the noise that drove her out of the volcano they had moved to, or anything that was wrong with the bronze halls the Kyklopes had built for them. And least of all, she said, it had to do with him.

“I need to see the world,” she explained with an apologetic smile. “The flowers, the sky, the sea… The people, of course, most of all the people! I cannot stay inside the entire day! I don’t know how you manage that.”

He didn’t tell her that he had gotten used to it, that he felt better when he was hiding his face even from the sun. She was the last person who would understand.

It was not only her frequent absence that made him worry. Sometimes, when they sat together, she quietly stared at the walls, her beautiful face so empty and absent as if her mind had left her body altogether. Then, she sighed heavily, and when she glanced up at him, her eyes were tired and sad.

In those moments, he felt like he should cheer her up somehow, but he couldn’t imagine how.

Over time, it got better. They got better, at talking and at sharing a house and a life that they had thus far had to themselves. Whether Aphrodite was truly happy, he couldn’t say, but she didn’t show many traces of her silent sadness anymore. They laughed together, and he found that he could tell her stories and she would listen, almost as well as Aglaia and her sisters did. She laughed in the right places and asked for more when he trailed off, and she might even share one of her own stories with him. Those were always far more fascinating than anything he had to say. When she spoke, he fell silent and listened in awe.

But still, she did not love him. He told himself that it was enough that she liked him. It was rare that love in a marriage was mutual, if there even was any to begin with. Aphrodite enjoyed his company, and he did no longer have to admire her from afar, and it was good.

The first year went by, and he was almost happy. He didn’t have to visit Olympus often and expose himself to the condescending smiles of the Gods, and when one of them visited his forge to request a shield, a helmet, a crown, they did so with respect. Mostly, he worked quietly on the thrones for the Twelve, and in the evening listened to Aphrodite’s soft steps when she arrived home.

-

It took him almost three years to finish the thrones. Whenever he believed there was no work left on one, he turned to another and saw hundred things he could improve. Even Hera’s throne he had at one point ordered back into the forge and spent another month perfecting it.

Some of the Twelve had requests, like Poseidon, who wished that his throne looked like it was carried by stormy waves rising from the ocean. Others, like Hades, barely even answered when he asked them for their wishes. Incidentally, he was also the only one who was not present when Hephaestus presented thirteen finished thrones to the Olympians.

By now, he knew the awestruck whispers almost better than the mocking ones. He certainly indulged in them. He took great pride in the praises he received when he handed a finished work over to its commissioner, but these silent murmurs were worth even more. They loved what he could do, so sincerely that they talked about it behind his back.

Even Zeus seemed immensely pleased when the Kyklopes followed Hephaestus into the palace, each shouldering one of the heavy golden thrones. The King of the Gods had not yet quite warmed up to him, but the wide, content smile with which he looked at his own throne spoke for itself.

“A fantastic work,” he admitted. Zeus’ throne was the most splendid of them all. On its backrest, Hephaestus had forged diamond ornaments that looked like he had caught a lightning bolt directly from the sky. It was undoubtedly his best work so far, and he didn’t doubt that it would take him centuries to create anything else this magnificent.

Zeus’ approval was the sign for the others to hasten to their thrones, as fast as they could without losing their grace. Hestia shook her head in disbelief at the sight of the golden flames that licked on her ruby-covered chair. She turned, took a few fast steps towards Hephaestus and hugged him.

Few of the others were quite as expressive with their fascination, but Hephaestus cherished every one of their words and told himself never to forget them.

“I might be able to sit still on this,” Hermes grinned. “Might, mind you.”

Persephone inspected both her and her husband’s thrones, which Hephaestus had designed to match each other. She shot him a smile. “I am tempted to take these to the Underworld. When they’re here, we will almost never use them, and that’s a pity.”

Even Ares, who after three years still never spoke to him when it could be avoided, clapped him on the shoulder like a brother and said, “Good work, blacksmith. You’ll make me some armour next, I hope.”

“I have a lot of commissions,” Hephaestus answered and pushed himself up on his cane. He was still a head shorter than Ares, but he felt like he was twice his size. “I can put you on the list.”

“Do that,” Ares laughed. “Might be well worth the wait.”

Aphrodite, like Hestia, pulled him into a tight hug.

“Had I not seen you make them, I wouldn’t believe my eyes,” she said. “They were worth all the days you didn’t come out of your forge.”

He wanted to tell her that on most days, she wouldn’t even have noticed if he hadn’t worked for a single moment. After all, she had been gone as frequently as he had been occupied with his work. But she kissed his cheek, and he forgot about his doubts.

She stayed with him, her arm linked with his. He shuffled a little closer even, searching the security her closeness gave him, when Hera strode from Zeus’ side over to them.

There it was again, her unreadable, tight smile. It hadn’t changed, not after all this time. They didn’t meet often, granted, but he had expected her to get used to his looks eventually. He couldn’t imagine her distance to derive from anything than persistent disgust. Was she battling it in this very moment, as she smiled at him?

“I did not believe you could in any way improve what you had already created when you first arrived here,” she said. As soon as she spoke her first words, every other person in the room fell silent. “I was proven wrong,” Hera added. “I could not be more impressed.”

She didn’t look impressed. She looked stone cold. But Hephaestus could hardly point that out.

“Thank you,” he said and lowered his head in respect.

“But there is one missing, I believe,” she said. She looked back over her shoulder and searched for Zeus’ eyes. For a moment, there was something in her look, something almost frightened. It was gone so fast that Hephaestus was certain he had just imagined it.

Zeus nodded so briefly it was lost to everyone but Hephaestus, who was intently watching their silent exchange. When Hera turned back around, her statue-like expression was back.

“Make the last one for yourself,” she said. “You will join our ranks and become the twelfth of our council.”

Aphrodite’s hand squeezed his arm. Words, Hephaestus thought. Again, he was without words. This was why he hated the unpredictability of people’s minds.

“Thank you,” he finally said. “I am honoured.”

He heard Aphrodite’s soft laugh next to him, but he didn’t dare to turn away from Hera. She seemed content behind her façade, although she had just confirmed that from now on, she would have to endure his presence even more often.

He simply could not make sense of her.

-

He made the first gift for Aphrodite in the third spring after the wedding. It was not the first thing he had given her after their wedding, but he thought of it as such. It would be one in a long series.

His promotion to the Olympian council had changed something in his mind. First, he had been so insecure that he didn’t deserve this appointment that he’d thought about rejecting it. He was the ugly God of the forge after all, hidden away from the world in a volcano and discarded even by his own mother. But these doubts did not last long. Soon, he thought with pride of the moment Hera had declared him one of the Twelve. There was no image more flattering than this: He had been granted the greatest honour there was for a God, surrounded by his best works that the most splendid of the Olympians had looked at in awe.

Maybe, he thought then, he did deserve it. Either as recognition of his skills, or to make up for what had been done to him.

The Gods had gotten used to his looks and to how he walked by now. Their mocking had died down. Maybe he deserved this, too, after all the decades of hiding.

And out of all these thoughts, and idea blossomed. If they had made him one of the Twelve, if they had accepted him on Olympus with the greatest honours, then he was also deserving of Aphrodite’s love.

He couldn’t force it, of course, or demand that the intimacy between them would turn into love rather than friendship. He hadn’t yet found a way to forge feelings. But he could try to change her mind and make her love him.

So he started crafting a crown.

He spun thin golden threads around diamonds, he carved fine pictures out of clamshells and surrounded them with pearls. Working with the beauty of the sea again was like returning home. Maybe she would remember her first wedding gift when he gave her the crown, the necklace he had made from pearls and corals. 

He meant to surprise her with this present as a parting gift, before he would leave to visit his old home under the sea. He had gotten into the habit of visiting Thetis every month, sometimes with Aphrodite and sometimes without her, depending on whether his wife wanted to see the sisters.

He hadn’t expected that the morning he would be leaving, he woke up alone. It was not unusual for her to wake before him, so he grabbed the cane by his bedside and went to look for her. Only after he had rounded almost every hall the Kyklopes had caved into the stone walls, he accepted that she had left before Eos had even finished her work.

For the rest of the morning, he looked up in anticipation every time he heard a rattle outside the doors. But she did not come back, and by midday, Hephaestus pulled his winged chariot out of the forge and left for the realm of Okeanos. He took the crown with him. Maybe he would later spot a mistake he made, one he hadn’t seen before. That would give him a chance to visit his old forge, too.

Thetis greeted him at the door, pulled him into her arms and asked for his wellbeing. She was the only one who hadn’t changed in the least after he had left. The sisters, on the other hand, had become strangely distant. They met them and their mother later, for dinner, and they were charming and graceful as always. But the freedom and comfort with which they used to move and speak around him was missing.

He had noticed it months ago, but hadn’t done anything about it, other than visit them more frequently. Maybe there was nothing he could do. It should not bother him that much, as long as they were still on good terms. He was part of the Olympians now, it was not like he was lonely without their company. He had Aphrodite, and Hestia, who had become like a loving aunt to him, maybe even Athena, whom he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around yet, but who shared his love for crafts and arts.

It bothered him nonetheless, that his oldest friends were suddenly turning away from him.

He had brought them gifts, too, like he always did. For the sisters, it was a set of rings that he handed to them after they had settled down with fresh oysters and sweet ambrosia. They thanked him, and for the rest of the evening, the rings sparkled on their hands. It was a small success.

Eventually, Euphrosyne asked him about the crown he had left in a bag in the hall. “What’s in there?” she said. “Are you giving us more?”

Hephaestus shook his head. “It’s a crown I made for Aphrodite. I’ll give it to her when I return home.”

“Then why did you take it with you?” Pasithea asked. Her pout had changed, had become more subtle and less childlike than it had been only a few years ago. How strange, that after all these centuries, she had chosen this very time to grow up.

“Maybe I’ll find some things I can improve,” Hephaestus answered. 

Aglaia’s smile at him was warm, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I bet there is no need for that. She loved everything you gave her so far.”

“Did she?”

Aglaia nodded, and the room seemed a little warmer, suddenly.

“She praises your skills a lot,” she said. Then she looked down at her feet and fell silent.

“If Okeanos lets me into the forge, I’ll make some more things for you, too,” Hephaestus said. There was tension in the room, the origin of which he couldn’t pinpoint. But he hurried to change the topic nonetheless.

When he left the next afternoon, the sisters’ goodbyes seemed rushed, as if they were glad to be rid of him.

He tried not to think too much of it as he went home. Somehow, he had always taken their friendship for granted, and he refused to believe that their relationship was to change this drastically anytime soon. And if it did, he would try his best to stop the change as quickly as possible.

It all became secondary as soon as he stepped through the doors of his home and heard Aphrodite’s sweet voice sing the familiar words of an old love song. He found her seated on a silver chair he had forged for pure leisure. She was gazing out of one of the few windows they had in this place, watching the sun slowly set on the horizon.

When he greeted her, she turned around and smiled so brightly at him that it erased all his worries. Her presence alone could make him believe that it would all work out well.

“Welcome back,” she said and rose to her feet to kiss his cheek. “How are Eurynome and the sisters?”

“They are well,” he answered. He believed they were, at least. “They give their greetings.”

“I would have greeted them too,” she sighed. “But I had to leave early that morning, and you were already gone when I came back.”

Now, he thought. If he wanted to give her the crown, it had to be now. He had taken it with him, in the hand that was not holding the cane, and had hidden it behind his back as he had entered the room.

He cleared his throat and said, “I wanted to give you a parting gift. I have it with me now. That might make it a return gift.”

Her eyes – light brown today, but she changed their colour frequently – widened when she took the fragile crown in her hands. She carefully traced the golden patterns with her fingers, smiled at the details on the shells, and finally put the crown on her shining hair.

“Thank you,” she said. “It’s beautiful.”

And yet, in her smile, a trace of her old sadness had returned.

-

When Harmonia was born, he knew she wasn’t his. He didn’t know how he could be so sure, after all, nobody had expected her to inherit any of his unfortunate features. Gods were not humans, it was not that easy to see who was related to whom, and most denied that Gods could be related to each other at all.

After all, Demeter with her earth-brown skin was the sister of pale Hera, and Eurynome’s daughters didn’t resemble each other in anything but their beauty. There were exceptions, of course. Persephone looked as similar to her mother as they were close, and Artemis and Apollo, like human twins, shared most of their features. But these cases were rare.

So when Harmonia was born with soft, brown cheeks and hazel eyes, nobody bat an eye at the fact that she didn’t look like her supposed father at all. If anything, they whispered about how lucky she was that the rules of human families didn’t apply to her.

Hephaestus was inclined to agree. He should have been happy that she had Aphrodite’s beauty instead of his ugliness. He should have been happy when the Gods of Olympus congratulated him on the birth of his daughter, the child he had with the Goddess of love herself.

But the moment he laid eyes on Harmonia, this sick feeling welled up in his guts. It was instinct more than logic. He tried not to show it, tried to treat the child like his own, but it was hard to look into her round face and see the girl behind the betrayal he suspected.

It wasn’t unusual amongst Gods that parent and child were a little estranged, so nobody was surprised when Aphrodite raised her daughter together with Eileithiya more than with Hephaestus. He was grateful for it, in a way. Like this, he didn’t have to pretend too often that he didn’t know that something was wrong.

He still built Harmonia a room, he made her gifts and played with her whenever Aphrodite left her in his care. Hera had rejected him, he refused to do the same with this child, whether she was his or not. But in every word she said, he heard the mocking whispers again.

Of course he could not have expected his wife to stay faithful. Of course the child she wanted to have would not be his.

Harmonia grew up in the same pace as mortal children. She was a bright, kind child and unusually calm for her age. Her serene voice could call every adult in the room to peace. She herself never got into fights. All her arguments, she settled with kindness and rationality.

So it was all the more strange that the person she was closest to, maybe with the exception of her mother, was Ares. Hephaestus sometimes saw them talk to each other at the gatherings of Olympus. Ares crouched so that he didn’t tower over the girl, he looked patiently at the flowers she showed to him or listened to the stories she told, and the smiles he gave her were fond and honest. Once or twice, Hephaestus watched him pick her up and carry her on his shoulders, until he handed her back to her laughing mother.

Most days, he refused to think about what this implied. The other days, he drowned himself in work to banish every vile thought that came to him. She was a child. She was as innocent as he had been when Hera had thrown him from Olympus.

When Harmonia turned sixteen, she had become a stunningly beautiful girl. Around that time, she stopped looking him into the eyes. She went out often, more even than her mother, and she brushed most of the questions he asked her aside.

She was too kind for the betrayal she was part of, so Hephaestus pretended not to see it. He also pretended that he didn’t resent her, and that he wasn’t deeply ashamed of it.

-

Hephaestus hadn’t built Helios’ chariot, but he had renovated it completely, about one year after Harmonia had left their house behind and moved to Mount Olympus.

So he was surprised when the God of the sun entered his forge only a few years later, leading one of his snow white horses with him.

“Greetings, Helios,” Hephaestus said and set down the breastplate he had been working on. “Is something wrong with the chariot?”

“Not at all, it is in a better shape than it has ever been before,” Helios answered. He looked around the forge, maybe searching for rays of the morning light. For him, the rooms inside the mountain had to be extremely uncomfortable. His realm was where the sun could reach, not where torches and lava fought an everlasting battle with the shadows.

“What is it then?” Hephaestus asked. “Do you have another request?”

“No,” Helios said again. Rubbing his all-seeing eyes, he grimaced. Then he squinted at the golden armour on Hephaestus’ workbench, as if he had trouble seeing it. He nodded vaguely in its direction. “Is that for Ares?”

“It is. Why?”

For a split second, Helios hesitated. “Because you might want to reconsider this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note about the Kharites: In my rush, I made a mistake: Pasithea, in the continuity I prefer, is not actually one of Aglaia's sisters, but one of the younger Kharites, who are sometimes Aglaia's daughters. I'm going to leave it like this for the time being, as a bit of an artistic licence, but I'm probably going to change it eventually, at least in my private Word document, to make it match the rest of my mythology retellings. (Which, coincidentally, are pretty much my novel-verse.)


	3. The Golden Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here it is, the journey is done, the dragon is slain. Over the last months, this thing became a major source of anxiety for me, to the point where I subconsciously tried to forget it exists. Editing your own stories is a bitch. Considering that, I’m stupidly proud of how this last chapter turned out. It’s also ridiculously long. Enjoy the novella.

“You look exhausted,” Aphrodite said when she returned. Broad daylight fell through the door and made her lovely figure glow. She was so beautiful he almost couldn’t make himself resent her.

“I worked through the night,” Hephaestus said.

Aphrodite didn’t even question this blatant lie. And why should she? She had not been there to see, she had been with Ares, spending the night with anything but sleep.

Hephaestus stood still when she wrapped an arm around his shoulders and kissed his cheek. “Then you should sleep now.”

She settled down in her favourite chair and rested her head against the delicate silver pattern on the backrest, as if nothing had changed. As if the world hadn’t suddenly started crumbling around them.

And it hadn’t, he thought bitterly. He had suspected it from the beginning, had known the day Harmonia was born. All this time, he had only pretended not to see. Had he admitted it to himself earlier, the humiliation of decades would not be so heavy on his shoulders.

She smiled at him when he left for the bedroom. He turned around and hurried down the corridor, the sick feeling in his guts stronger than ever before. He wasn’t tired. He could not even close his eyes when he reached the bed, because all he saw was Aphrodite with Ares. 

After all the years of deliberately not thinking about it, it now all came crashing down.  
Memories of their embraces on Olympus, of them laughing together, of Ares handing Harmonia over to Aphrodite. And other things flashed up in his mind, things he had never seen and never wanted to see, but that made it hard for him not to throw up.

He sat there in silence until the sun turned red at the horizon. When the last light of the day had vanished, he did not even bother to light a fire. Aphrodite’s soft steps echoed through the darkness eventually. She lit a torch when she came into the room and startled when she saw Hephaestus looking at her.

“Are you feeling well?” she asked with a worried frown.

He muttered something in response. He could not remember what it was later, only that she nodded and lay down without another word.

Soon, her soft breathing was the only sound in the room. Sleeping, her pretty face looked too fragile to do harm to any living thing.

Hephaestus grabbed his cane and sprang to his feet. He limped out of the bedroom, careful not to wake Aphrodite with the clunk of the metal cane on the ground, and hurried down the halls to his forge. The embers in the ovens still lit the walls in their gloomy red light, and the armour he had abandoned on the workbench shone in their glow. It looked like it was mocking him.

He didn’t even hesitate to throw it into the fire. Days of work melted before his eyes into a puddle of metallic glimmering liquid, and he forced himself to watch. It was his punishment for spending all these years in denial.

The armour had been a waste of time. From its remains, he would make something better, something more fitting for the man who had shamelessly made requests to the man whose wife he was sleeping with.

He remembered exactly what he had to do, even years after he had bound Hera. He had made the chains only once, but with such precision that he didn’t need to change a thing about them. They would work just as well if they were holding two, lovers instead of a Queen, and were tied to a bed instead of a throne.

How many people had known? Harmonia was one of them, that was obvious, but what did the others know? Were there still whispers going around Olympus, and they had just learnt to hide them better?

After this, they would whisper about Aphrodite. About Ares, too, if they had the same disdain for his actions as for those of an unfaithful wife. He would turn them into a mockery, just like they had humiliated him in front of all of Olympus. They would all see, they would have proof of how ugly the Goddess of beauty could be.

And Hera would have to look at the chains again that had left her powerless. In this night, he hated her almost more than Ares and Aphrodite. It all made sense now, Hera’s stone-cold smiles and the faked gentleness with which she treated him.

She had sat back and pulled the strings, and set this whole disaster into motion. Of course she had known Aphrodite, had known that she would never be content as the wife of the ugly smith. She must have wanted him broken, grieving, wanted to make him leave Olympus behind once and for all. This was her way of getting rid of him again, after he had so unceremoniously returned to her life.

It would not work. He would not leave, and he would set these chains as a grim reminder of the time he had stripped her from her power.

Almost manically, he worked without a single break. He forged a curse and a chain and strung them together, until he yet again held thin bands of gold in his hands. They looked fragile as glass, weighed less than feathers, and were yet unbreakable by human and divine hands alike.

It was morning when they were finished. Aphrodite would leave soon, and then he could put them into place.

-

When Helios called out to him, he was on his way to Lemnos. He could barely see the familiar shape of the island on the horizon. It was his favourite place in the known world, and the place he had secretly chosen as his refuge if things were to go bad. There, the people would treat him like one of them, they had done so since he had first visited the place.

He had been looking forward to seeing it again. Ten years had passed since his last visit, and he had wondered how the city had changed. He had hoped to get at least a few hours of distraction until he had to return to the volcano.

But here he was, still in his chariot, when Helios’ voice reached him.

“I see them bound,” he called, dashing towards him on one of his white horses. In the daylight, he looked almost as blinding as the sun itself, and Hephaestus had to squint to look at him.

“Already?” he asked.

“Without doubt.” Helios’ face was hidden by his own glow, but there was a trace of sympathy in his voice.

Had he not needed his concentration to keep himself from throwing up, Hephaestus would have laughed. So she had called for her paramour barely an hour after her husband had left the house. Even knowing about her affair, he wouldn’t have thought Aphrodite to be this cold-blooded.

He looked once again at the outline of Lemnos in the distance, and wondered whether he should pay it a visit nonetheless. It would serve them right, to be caught in the chains for a day or two.

But no, he would not find joy in Lemnos. His mind would inevitably stray to the volcano and the bound lovers again.

“Call the Olympians,” he told Helios. “Every single one of them.”

“Like it was planned,” Helios said and nodded. “I wish you good luck.”

They parted ways mid-air. Helios’ horse carried him up into the sky, towards Mount Olympus. Hephaestus turned his chariot around and ordered its wings to bring him home.

It had all gone smoothly, just according to plan, and yet, he felt strangely dizzy. His steps dragged heavily on the stone floor as he made his way to the bedroom. The pulses of pain in his head matched his steps.

In front of the bedroom door, he stopped. He cleared his throat and straightened his back. He would walk into this room with the confidence of one who had effortlessly brought two of the Twelve to his mercy. 

They would all see. They would whisper about Aphrodite like they had whispered about him, and then this nightmare would be over. He stepped into the room.

The bound lovers looked like a piece of art, like a marble sculpture the artist had meticulously measured out. Every inch of them was perfect.

They lay in a loose embrace that must have been passionate when it had been interrupted, but now looked merely uncomfortable. One of Ares’ strong arms was draped over Aphrodite waist, caught there by a shining string of chains. She had one hand on his shoulder, the other entwined with his. The chains were strung over her bare chest, over Ares’ broad shoulders, around their entangled bodies and gave the scene a golden glow.

They both snapped around to look at Hephaestus when he entered the room. Ares looked pale, almost fearful, and Hephaestus would have given anything to keep a copy of this look carved into stone.

Aphrodite desperately wriggled her hand under the chains, but it didn’t come free. She let out a helpless gasp. Now he saw that her cheeks were tear-stained and her eyes red from crying. She looked so harmless, but he refused to let her beauty blind him again.

“Please,” she breathed. One word, as fragile as glass.

“You can beg all you like,” he said. Ares’ stare gave him the strength he needed to raise his voice and shout, “Look at this, Gods of Olympus! Look at your beloved Aphrodite and tell me you still admire her! Tell me you can still love this woman, I dare you!”

Aphrodite paled and her whole body shivered. “No, please,” she whispered. “There is no need for this. At least listen to me, dear, please.”

He winced at the endearment, this little word that had warmed him whenever she had spoken it. Now, it only fuelled his anger. Now that it was clear that to her, it meant nothing. 

“I’m through with listening to you,” he growled. “You will face the consequences of -” He gestured at the scene and almost spat out the word, “This!”

Ares snorted. His face was red with anger now and he had clenched his jaw. “Consequences?” he snarled. “For what? For choosing her lover over a misshapen hermit?”

“Stop it,” Aphrodite said. She squirmed beneath him, but the chains still bound her fast. “Let me talk to him, maybe-“

“Maybe what?” Hephaestus snapped. “You can’t charm yourself out of this. You’ve done this long enough.”

She didn’t answer. She stared past Hephaestus at the doorway, her whole body tense. He turned to follow her look, just in time to see Hermes float over the threshold and look around the room with wide eyes and the tiniest smirk.

“Am I late?” His eyes lingered on the bound pair for a while, before they finally settled on Hephaestus. “I met Helios on my way to Olympus,” he said. “He told me you had commanded every soul on Olympus to come to this very hall, to look at the shame Aphrodite brought over the deathless Gods.” His drawling voice made clear that those had been Helios’ words rather than his own. “Now I see what you mean by that. Congratulations on the catch!”

Across the room, Aphrodite let out a quiet whimper. She was like a fly in a spider’s web, struggling against her bonds.

“Shut your mouth, Hermes,” Ares growled. He didn’t struggle. He had not even glanced at Hermes once, his glare was fixed on Hephaestus.

“I don’t think you’re in any position to make someone shut up,” Hermes grinned. He leant against the wall and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “This is going to be fun.”

“Are others coming?” Hephaestus asked him.

“Oh, of course. Olympus can be an awfully boring place. Some distraction is always appreciated.”

Aphrodite’s quiet begging was lost in the string of swears Ares let loose, and the thunder of feet in the hallway.

Zeus himself was one of the first who entered. After him followed Poseidon, whose features were uncharacteristically strict. His hair and beard were unkempt, as though he had in his hurry neglected to make himself look presentable.

Behind him, hidden in his mighty shadow, walked the young Kadmos. Out of all those who had answered his call, his presence surprised Hephaestus the most. He was not a God, but a mere mortal whom the Gods had instructed with the founding of a city. Hephaestus did not know the entire story, but everyone had heard that Kadmos had slain a dragon that incidentally had been Ares’ son, and that he had been made Ares’ assistant as a punishment.

He took his task very seriously and followed his master everywhere, but in this moment of shame, he was clearly uncomfortable. He must have been forced to attend this gathering. He exchanged one look of apology with Ares that the God acknowledged with a nod. Then he disappeared behind the others. He did not speak out loud. It would have bordered on blasphemy for a mortal to do so in this room.

Hephaestus watched him settle against the wall. Hermes joined him there and they exchanged a few words, while the room slowly became crowded with Gods.

The misplaced mortal was forgotten when black wings caught his eye, and Eris flew into the room. Her wings were beating erratically and her sharp teeth were stark white against her red, grinning lips.

“Had I not told you it would end like this?” she hissed when she passed Hephaestus. Giggling, she dashed up to the ceiling and settled on a wooden shelf, her legs daintily dangling down. Hephaestus forced himself not to look at her.

She was one of the few Goddesses in the room. Hephaestus had not expected Demeter or her daughter to answer Helios’ call, since the two were far too detached from the petty drama of Olympus. But neither wise Athena nor Hestia showed. The Kharites were absent, just like Ares’ sisters Hebe and Eileithiya.

Hera also didn’t show. Instead, her loyal messenger Iris stood quietly in the back, shining in all the colours of the rainbow.

Lastly, Apollo strode into the room. “Artemis gives her greetings,” he announced with his blinding smile. “She says that since she didn’t agree with this marriage in the first place, she refuses to be around for its downfall.”

He stopped right in the middle of the gathered Gods and gave Hephaestus a wide grin. “I suppose this is what is happening here. Although, who am I to judge you if this display is entirely voluntary?”

“Eat dirt, Apollo,” Ares muttered. He looked increasingly uncomfortable. Now it was him who was struggling against the chains, while Aphrodite had stopped moving altogether. Her watery eyes searched for Hephaestus’. She had ceased her begging, but there was a desperate plea in her look.

He turned away.

Around the room, the Gods whispered to each other. Quiet laughter rang from all sides. They were making jokes already, ridiculing the exposed couple in their middle. Some more serious voices were amongst them, too, but in the crowd, it was impossible to make out their words.

It was the familiar sound of rumours being spread that had once held the power to lock Hephaestus in a cave below the sea. He loved it now just as much as he feared it. He was on the safe side this time, now that the divine gossip targeted others, and every laughing voice filled him with power.

His headache was still there, but it was weaker now. When Zeus looked at him from across the room, he dared to meet his eyes.

“I would ask what this gathering was about,” Zeus said. “But I think it is self-explanatory.”

Where Hera would have pursed her lips and frozen every soul in the room, Zeus seemed to be burning. Pure force surrounded him and filled the air around them with electric crackles. Hephaestus’ very skin was prickling, but he did not lose his composure. He was safe, after all.

Ares, with his strong arms and control over raging wars, winced like a beaten dog when Zeus glared at him. The laughter of the Gods slowly died down. Here and there a rather worried word was spoken.

Only Aphrodite stayed unmoved. She looked from Hephaestus up to Zeus and looked him straight into the eyes. “I told you,” she said. Even her voice had hardened. “I told you this would not work the very day you arranged this marriage.”

“And yet you agreed to it.” Zeus’ words were harsh as lightning.

“As if I’d had a choice!” Aphrodite cried out. Tears welled up in her eyes again, and once, only for the briefest of moments, she glanced at Hephaestus again. It was almost an apology.

He gripped his cane harder. Up on the shelf, Eris cackled. She had been right after all, Hephaestus thought in agony. He didn’t know what had happened between Zeus and Aphrodite that made her so vengeful now, but it was too clear that all his efforts – the gifts he’d made, the stories he’d told, the love he’d given her – had been in vain. She didn’t love him, and in this moment, he doubted that she even liked him.

She was a good actress. She had proven that.

“Zeus, Cloudgatherer,” Hephaestus said, with a bit more force than necessary. “You see what happened here. You see the woman who committed adultery in her own house, caught in the act. I demand a compensation for this betrayal.”

Zeus was still piercing Aphrodite with his glare. He acknowledged Hephaestus’ words with barely more than a nod.

“What are you asking for?” he said eventually.

He had thought about this while he had forged the chains and remembered the weeks, the months he had spent on Aphrodite’s gifts, all the effort and the love he had poured into them.

“I want to be paid back for the bridal gifts I gave to Aphrodite and Olympus. They’re worth nothing now.”

“I’ll give them,” Aphrodite said without hesitation. “Just let us go.”

Hephaestus ignored her. “Ares should pay for what I gave to Olympus, and a penalty on top of that.”

“Pay?” Ares laughed. “Me? For what do I have to pay? You should pay a fine to Aphrodite, for forcing her to kiss your ugly visage goodnight.”

Hephaestus snapped around. A bolt of pain went through his leg and almost knocked him off his feet. Barely, he managed to hold onto his cane and secure his stance. He was too absorbed in his anger to care about the quiet chuckles from behind.

“You are in my house, caught in my chains!” he bellowed. “If you ever want to move again, do not dare to mock me!”

“If you think I’m afraid of you, you’re wrong, blacksmith,” Ares muttered, but he was squirming under the chains again. “I can wait eternally for these chains to crumble, and then your little cane won’t be able to help you walk either.”

“Shut up,” Aphrodite spat. “Just shut up, Ares. You’re only making it worse.”

“It’s your honour I’m defending!”

“Honour?” Her laugh was cold as ice. “I think I can defend myself, thank you!”

“And yet you married him! Against your will!”

They looked bizarre as they were quarrelling with their wrists bound together and their naked bodies stripped to the wooden bed. Aphrodite pressed herself into the sheets, struggling to at least bring a few inches between them. Her long, sharp nails dug into Ares’ shoulder and left red marks.

“You understand nothing,” she said. “Nothing. I don’t want to hear you talk again!”

Ares clenched his jaw. His eye twitched with rage, but Zeus cut in before he could say a word.

“Enough,” he thundered. “I’m not eager to hear either of you talk. If you remember, it was Hera who demanded this marriage in the first place. Now we’ve all been brought into this.”

He didn’t look at him, but Hephaestus winced nonetheless. “But Hera is not here,” he said.

“And I don’t know where she is,” Zeus said. A whisper went around the room, but it died down as soon as Zeus let his glare wander over the crowd. He settled it on Hephaestus. “You’re right in that it is a matter of Olympus.”

Hephaestus nodded firmly. The marriage had been part of the offers after all, and thus part of their deal. Maybe he should loosen the chains and demand that they should be used on Hera instead.

Zeus cleared his throat, as if he had heard Hephaestus’ thoughts. “This does not mean that I want anything to do with it. My ruling is final: There was a crime and there will be a penalty. Settle the details amongst yourselves.”

“I named my demands,” Hephaestus said.

“Then do it like this. Free them, and Ares pays the compensation.”

Over on the bed, Ares raised his head in shock. “You can’t possibly agree with him!”

Clouds drew over the room. Not physical, but in the shape of shadows swallowing the little sunlight that found its way into the room. Electric pulses flashed through the air and made every hair on Hephaestus’ body stand up.

The Gods had stopped speaking, some of them mid-sentence. Nobody dared to move a muscle. In the back of the room, mortal Kadmos had shrunk to the size of a frightened rabbit.

In the sudden darkness, Zeus’ bright eyes and hair gleamed like lightning. He seemed to loom over the other Gods.

“I can do what I want,” he said, and in the face of his power, nobody doubted him. “It was you who disrespected the decision of Olympus!”

As soon as the darkness had come, it was gone again. Left were the Gods, who hesitantly started whispering again, now under their breath and in awe and respect. Ares didn’t speak again. He had looked tiny and weak compared to his father. Zeus’ anger had robbed him of the rest of his dignity.

Aphrodite was the only one who dared to speak up.

“It was my fault just as much as his,” she said. Moments ago, she had been crying. Now, she was utterly calm.

Zeus smoothed the folds of his robes. “Then you should both pay,” he said. With her, he spoke softer, though still not gently.

“I already said, I’ll give everything back,” Aphrodite said. She shoved at Ares’ shoulder, but he didn’t react. It was difficult to make out whether the deep frown on his face was one of anger or of fear.

The room had calmed down enough for the first laughter to ring through the air. Zeus’ outbreak seemed unreal now that it was over, like a hallucination they had all collectively shared. Apollo was one of those who had first recovered his grin.

“Come on, Ares,” he said. “That’s not an expensive price to pay. I’d be quite willing to pay it if it meant a night with Aphrodite.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t talk about paying so much,” Hermes called from where he was still leaning against the wall. He shot Apollo a triumphant smile. “You owe me quite a sum, if I remember our bet correctly.”

“You bet on this?” Aphrodite grimaced. “That’s distasteful.”

“You knew?” Hephaestus said in the very same moment. His words effortlessly drowned Aphrodite’s out.

He looked at Hermes, at Apollo, and back at Hermes. He didn’t get an answer, Hermes merely grinned and shrugged. But it was obvious nonetheless.

A familiar cold seeped into his limbs. There were whispers again, but the power they had given him was gone. Now they drained him of every bit of confidence he had gained. He looked around the laughing faces. At least one of them had to be scandalised by this rude bet rather than amused. At least one of them had to be here because he had called them, because they condemned this scandal just like he did.

He startled when he saw Eris on the shelf. Her grin was even uglier than before. It was so unnaturally wide it almost reached her ears. Hephaestus believed that he could hear her cackle even from across the room.

This marriage and everything that had happened after – it had all been a giant joke to Olympus. They had gotten better at hiding it from him, or maybe Harmonia’s very existence had trained him in denial. But they had laughed about it from the beginning. The Goddess of beauty, married to the ugliest of the Gods. For them it had been impossible to take that seriously.

This gathering was only the punchline. They would go home satisfied, their world order restored. What could not work out had not worked out, and now Aphrodite could be with her handsome lover again. And it was certainly amusing to see the ugly smith claim in front of all of Olympus that he had some kind of right to this impossible marriage.

Maybe it was funny to see him hurt, too, to see him smaller than he already was.

There was the bittersweet notion that not all of them had come, that for some, it was indeed a serious matter. Those who disagreed with the Goddess of love being forced into a marriage she found no love in, those had stayed away.

He wanted them all out. He wanted to shout at them, to chase them away and lock himself inside the volcano, never to see sunlight again. But he had called them here, so he had to bear the humiliation he had brought upon himself.

“Will you pay your penalty?” he asked Ares.

Aphrodite scratched red marks into his shoulder again.

“Fine,” Ares muttered. “I will pay what you demand; if that means that you will let Aphrodite go.”

It took Hephaestus a moment to understand that he did not mean the chains.

“I don’t want this cursed marriage,” he said bitterly. Aphrodite winced, the first sign of weakness she had shown in a long while, but he ignored it. “I want your word,” he said. “Both of yours.”

Ares laughed. “I am not going to swear anything.”

Hephaestus glanced at Zeus, hoping that he would call his son to order like he had done the last time. But the King of Olympus just crossed his arms and said, “This is not the occasion for an oath by Styx. It’s settled, let them go.”

The bound lovers looked up, a trace of hope in their eyes. Aphrodite’s hands tugged on the chains again, and Ares’ feet were twitching impatiently. The very moment they were unchained, they would jump to their feet and run, Hephaestus was absolutely sure of that.

“And who guarantees me that they won’t just flee when I break the chains?” he asked.

“I do.” Poseidon stepped forward, stepping to his brother’s side. He hadn’t spoken a single word since he had arrived, and even now, there was a deep frown on his face. “You will receive your compensation. Let them go.”

Zeus raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you bailing for them, brother?”

“I am indeed.” Briefly, Poseidon glanced at Aphrodite. “If they flee without paying, what I don’t advise them to do for their own good, I will pay the penalty. I will give you back all the bridal gifts you made for Aphrodite. You have my word.”

Hephaestus hesitated. Seeing the two in chains was the only thing that was still satisfying about this spectacle. But he could impossibly refuse the King of the Seas, whose reign he had lived under for so long. It would feel even more treacherous than refusing Zeus.

And the sooner he freed them, the sooner they would all be gone.

“Then they can go,” he said. He limped past the Gods, who were intently watching him with their mocking eyes. Then he made his way to the forge to fetch his mallet.

-

Time was a ridiculous thing. A year passed without a word from either Ares or Aphrodite. Nobody knew where they had gone, if they were together or if their fight in chains had broken them apart for good.

There was talk about finding them and making them pay their penalty, but nobody truly cared enough to go through with it. Hephaestus was, frankly, thankful for it. Their return would have meant that he’d have to face them, and he had only just come to peace with the comfortable image of never seeing either of them again.

Aphrodite had already paid what she owed him, without doing one thing. She had left her jewellery behind along with most of her belongings when she’d left the house in the volcano. Hephaestus spent hours wondering if it meant that she had given them back, or if she simply didn’t want to return to retrieve them. Finally, he decided to leave them in their place. There wasn’t much he could do with them anyways.

Without working on a new gift every month – a habit he had grown into during the last years - he found himself with a surprising amount of free time. He hadn’t realised how much thought and effort he had put into bracelets and necklaces. Now he spent hours wandering the hallways of his house, unsure of what to do once he had finished his scarce commissions from Olympus. He could not remember what he had done for leisure back when he had still lived with Thetis.

He didn’t go to Olympus anymore. The occasional face he saw was that of a God asking him for a new sword or tableware, and he fulfilled the requests quickly and precisely. He seldom spoke more words to them than absolutely necessary. 

Then, on a summer day he later could barely remember, Hermes all but crashed into the forge.

“Greetings, Hephaestus!” he called and landed next to Hephaestus’ workbench.

Gold and silver were lined up there, the materials for a new piece that Hephaestus was meticulously fitting together with a fine hammer.

“What do you want, Hermes?” he asked. He didn’t like having him in his forge, where all the gold and jewels were far too tempting for a thieving hand.

“I don’t want anything,” Hermes answered. “I bring a message, that’s all. It is an invitation from your daughter.”

Hephaestus lowered his hammer. “I don’t have a daughter,” he said.

“No?” Hermes shrugged. “Well, this confirms what we have all been thinking. Anyways, it is a message from Harmonia.”

He had barely thought about Harmonia lately. The only times she had haunted his thoughts had been those days when he could think about little more than about Aphrodite and Ares, and by extension the child that was not his.

He had not really spoken to her either, ever since she had left the house. They had never been truly close, but from the child he had helped raise he had expected at least a word or two. But over the last years, he had seen her with Ares so often that every last doubt he had harboured about her parentage had been eradicated.

She had become one of the people he was hoping to never see again.

“Tell me the message,” he said.

“You might have heard that Zeus finally gave Kadmos the city he founded,” Hermes said.

Hephaestus nodded. This gossip had found its way even to him. He remembered the young man who had silently watched his master and Aphrodite bound from the back of the room. He hadn’t looked like the brave dragon-slayer, more like a stable boy. Maybe the crown of a King would make him more impressive.

“Do they want a throne for him?” Hephaestus asked. “Am I invited to forge his regalia?”

“If you think it makes a decent present, you can certainly do that.” Hermes rounded the workbench. He didn’t reach for the precious metals, but he did eye them greedily.

“It is a wedding invitation,” he finally said. “Zeus has given Harmonia to Kadmos in marriage, apparently due to their own begging. And Harmonia has sent me to invite you.”

“Is this supposed to be a joke?” Hephaestus asked.

Hermes raised his brows at him. “Why would it be?”

“Because Harmonia has no reason to invite me personally,” Hephaestus muttered. “If she said that she wanted the Gods of Olympus to be present, I would have understood that she meant me, too.”

“Yes, but she is apparently making you a special guest. And if you want my advice: Take the invitation.” Hermes picked up a piece of gold and threw it up in the air. “A little diplomacy would do you good.”

He put the gold down again before Hephaestus could snatch it from his hands.

“Think about it,” he said. The tiny wings on his helmet began to flap again and he lifted from the ground. “Five more invitations to be carried out. Should I give your greetings to Aphrodite?”

Hephaestus was too surprised to care about the underlying insolence. “You know where she is?”

“No. But I know someone who knows someone.” He soared higher. “That’s enough sometimes. Good luck with your work!”

He left Hephaestus to his work and to his thoughts, and to count the pieces of metal on the workbench. Only one of them was missing. Hephaestus couldn’t make himself care.

Harmonia was making him, who had been widely proclaimed her father, a guest of honour at her wedding. After all that had happened, it was an insult that cut deep. Apparently, Zeus had approved of the marriage, but to legally settle the engagement, they would have had to consult the father of the bride. And Hephaestus hadn’t known of the wedding before.

So it was official now that Ares was Harmonia’s father and would be treated as such. It didn’t come as a surprise, and it didn’t hurt quite as much as it should have. And yet, Harmonia was going to put him in the centre of attention, to be stared at by every God who attended the wedding.

The former father of the bride, they would say. But of course it was impossible that this pretty girl was the daughter of that terrible man. Did you hear, they would ask, about the story of Hephaestus and Aphrodite, and how their marriage ended? Let me tell you, it was ridiculous.

Harmonia didn’t seem like the kind of girl who engaged in such petty behavious, but she was Ares’ daughter after all, and Hephaestus had deeply harmed both her parents’ reputation. She would have reason to seek vengeance.

He stared at the gold that was already laughing at him with its shine. He could not reject the invitation either, not to a wedding organised by Olympus.

In his storage, there was a half-finished necklace. He had been working on it before Helios had told him about Aphrodite’s adultery. It had been meant as one of his presents to her, when he had still loved her more than resented her.

He had never finished it. It had been made for an adulteress, it would not be a compliment to gift it to anyone else.

But to her daughter, he could give it. With every heartbeat, the world around him turned redder. How could she dare? It had been settled. It had been over.

And now Harmonia called him to her wedding to rub salt deep in his wounds, to humiliate him yet again in front of everyone. As he slammed the unfinished necklace onto the workbench, her image in his mind had become that of a monster rather than a girl. A sneer on her face, her mouth twisted into Eris’ evil grin.

He had never spoken a stronger curse. Not even for the chains, since he had known he would have to break them sooner or later. This curse, he didn’t plan to break. He had thought so long about inflicting something similar on Aphrodite, or Hera herself, that the work on it was almost a routine.

He forged her misfortune, in whatever way it would come to her. Death was bound to the gold, grief to the pearls and blood to the rubies. Each new way of misery he came up with, he tied to another gem. He handled the words of the curse like the tools of his craft, he sculpted their power into fine décor. He gave the curse Harmonia’s immortality, so that it lasted forever, on her and her family and Kadmos’ newly founded city.

If he had taken a moment to think rather than act, he may have reconsidered. Adjusted at least the strength of the curse, ensured that he worked with magic he knew how to deal with. But he was hurt, and he was raging, and it made him blind.

-

Poseidon didn’t have to fulfil his promises. He seemed almost disappointed when Ares finally returned to Olympus. They all had last seen him on Harmonia’s wedding, when he had handed his daughter over to his former assistant. He and Aphrodite had both disappeared before anyone but Harmonia and Kadmos could get a word with them.

But unlike Aphrodite, Ares came back only a month and a half after the wedding.

He looked ragged, his armour unpolished and his clothes torn on the edges. Wherever he had been, it had not been gentle to him. And yet, he strode into the throne room of Olympus with confidence, bowed before his father and announced that he was there to pay his penalty.

Zeus made him pay not in gold, but in work. In front of most of Olympus he announced that Ares would spend a year helping Hephaestus in his forge. Ares was less than pleased, but with the eyes of the Olympians firmly fixed on his back, he could not refuse.

Hephaestus didn’t think twice about it and banished Ares to the core of the volcano, to help the Kyklopes forge the iron. Three months passed before they saw each other for the first time, and six before they talked. It was a mere greeting they exchanged.

But Ares stayed true to his word and did not once try to escape his punishment. He was a hard worker when he wanted to be, and the Kyklopes praised his determination. And the more time passed, the less Hephaestus wanted him to fail.

They truly spoke for the first time only two months before the end of Ares’ punishment. It was not even in the forge, but on Olympus, after Hephaestus had brought a series of statues to the gardens. Ares had helped with their delivery, and on their way back to the Kyklopes’ chariots, they walked only a few steps from each other.

During their entire visit, they both had been nervously glancing around the white halls of Olympus. Hephaestus didn’t have to guess who Ares had been looking for. Hera had returned to Olympus eventually; Hephaestus had seen her in the halls, but she hadn’t looked at him. Only one was still missing.

“You don’t know where she is either, do you?” he asked.

Ares turned around and frowned. “No. She is good at disappearing. But she’ll come back. She always does.”

His voice was rough, his sentences too sharp to be polite. But from him, it might as well have been a peace offering.

Hephaestus decided to take it. Hating him was easy, but being unable to face him in a civil way had become increasingly exhausting.

“She disappeared before?” he wondered.

Ares’ frown deepened. “It’s not the first time we fought. Sometimes, she’s gone for months. This is the longest she has ever been gone, though.”

He had never noticed her disappear for so long, Hephaestus wanted to say. She had always come home after a day or two. Only then did it dawn on him that he had not been around to witness what Ares was talking about. That maybe, Aphrodite and Ares’ affair long predated his own failed marriage.

It was almost funny. So Ares had hated him from the start, for the same reason Hephaestus now resented Ares. In his eyes, it was Hephaestus who had lead Aphrodite to adultery.

“Loving her isn’t gentle,” Ares said.

“I noticed,” Hephaestus answered.

But they did love her, the both of them. Only Ares had done it for longer, and she loved him back. They fell silent while around them, the Kyklopes gathered the chariots.

-

The assistance of the Kyklopes was worth a lot, they prepared metals and polished gems with greatest care, and they were skilled craftsmen in their own right. Hephaestus had never had better colleagues, and he enjoyed working with them almost as much as working with Okeanos in his younger years. But they were no company. They preferred the solitude of the volcano’s core, where it was too hot even for Hephaestus. Their rites and beliefs were too different from those of the Gods, and as much as they liked him and he liked them, they spent most of their time amongst themselves.

Hephaestus had never valued company much, but since he had left Olympus, life had become terribly lonely. Without Aphrodite, the house in the volcano seemed far too big. It was strange to walk the hallways and hear nothing but the echo of his own steps. There was no quiet singing anymore, no distant laughter or chatting voices.

So he moved back into Thetis’ house under the sea.

He was hesitant to tell her about his plans, but she welcomed him with open arms. Then she asked him a dozen times if he was alright.

“You know that no matter what happens, you are always welcome here,” she promised.

Thetis was the one constant that never really changed. In a way, the world seemed to revolve around her, and she was the eye of the storm. She would always care for those around her, who were caught in the ups and downs of the world, and offer them a safe place to stay.

She helped Hephaestus settle in his old rooms and she called Eurynome and her daughters over to welcome him. Eurynome seemed relieved. She pulled Hephaestus into a hug and gave him the warmest of her smiles. The sisters, however, were still hesitant. Aglaia didn’t look into Hephaestus’ eyes once, and none of them acted entirely naturally around him. But at least he now knew why their relationship had changed so much, and he was confident that it would change again.

It was better like this, he decided as he fanned the flames of his old forge. Life was easier here. He should never have left in the first place.

He still returned to the volcano whenever there was a request from Olympus, but those only came once in a while. Soon, he had to make up reasons why he needed the help of the Kyklopes, otherwise he would have lost every tie to his newfound foreign friends.

It was on one of those visiting days, after he had worked on a series of smaller weapons with the Kyklopes, that he returned to find Aglaia in his forge. She was seated on one of the bronze chairs he had forged for himself in his childhood. It had a skewed leg and its décor was plain at best and boring at worst. He had meant to melt it and use the bronze for a better work, but he’d never actually gone through with it.

Aglaia’s beauty was a stark contrast to this imperfection. She was holding a tiny bead of gold, a ring that Hephaestus was making for Persephone. She looked up when she heard the wheels of his chariot on the stone ground, and hastily put the ring away.

“Welcome back,” she said quietly. “Did the work go well?”

“It did, thank you.” Hephaestus let his chariot roll over to the wall. He halted it there and pulled his cane out of the bronze holder he had made to carry it.

Aglaia watched him limp over to her. She didn’t get up and she didn’t leave, but she didn’t speak either. Her hands fidgeted in her lap.

“Why are you down here?” Hephaestus asked. “Do you want to tell me something?”

Aglaia sighed and shook her head. “No. I was walking around the house and found myself here. I hope you don’t mind?”

“Why would I?”

Some decades ago, she wouldn’t even have thought about asking that. Back then, she had known that she was always welcome in his forge, except for those times when he was working on a surprise for her.

It had been years since he had made anything for her or her sisters. He had lacked the inspiration for any leisurely works after Aphrodite had left. The few things he had tried to make had turned out so terrible that he had immediately thrown them into the flames.

Now, Aglaia’s soft smile reminded him of how much the sisters had used to inspire him in the old days. He had made them one present after the other, more even than he had made for Aphrodite. Maybe he had made so many because it was so easy. With them, he had always been certain that they would love the gifts, no matter whether he found flaws in them or not.

He found another old chair hidden behind a workbench and carried it over to Aglaia. When he sat down, the exhaustion of the day finally caught up with him and he was breathing heavily.

“Who is the ring for?” Aglaia asked.

“Persephone,” Hephaestus said. “She asked for a set of ruby jewellery.”

Aglaia nodded. She wrung her hands again and looked down at the floor. A stray pearl captured her interest, and she poked at it with her foot.

Hephaestus cleared his throat. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” Aglaia murmured.

“You have been distant,” he began. He was glad he at least didn’t have to look into her eyes. “I know it is because of Aphrodite. I hope to put this whole thing past me, so tell me what I can do to make it up to you.”

The pearl rolled over the uneven ground and disappeared behind a heavy wooden barrel. Aglaia stared after it. Then she sighed heavily and leant back on the chair.

“You didn’t do anything to me. And I don’t know…” She let the words trail off. “I think what Aphrodite did to you was wrong. If she wanted to be with Ares, she should have told you. And still.”

Finally, she looked up at him, her green eyes wide and helpless.

“What did you think when you married her?” she asked.

“I loved her,” Hephaestus said. It surprised him how naturally the past tense passed his lips.

Aglaia’s smile looked almost painful. “You didn’t even know her.”

“I know.” He laughed quietly. “I got to know her later. It’s still true.”

“Do you know why Ares came here on that day? When you bound Hera?”

He frowned at her. He had assumed that they had just sent the strongest, most forceful person they could find. But in retrospect, wise Athena would have probably been a better choice.

“Aphrodite told us after the wedding,” Aglaia said. Her words were slow and chosen with care. “Zeus had offered her hand to the God who could bring you back to Olympus. She agreed because she hoped it would be Ares. It was only after he returned that Hera convinced Zeus to make the marriage part of their offer to you.”

It didn’t even hurt. If anything, it explained why Aphrodite had agreed to marry him in the first place.

“Then they have been lovers for a long time,” he said.

“For more than a century,” Aglaia agreed. She ran a hand through her neat curls and slowly twisted one streak around her finger.

“You see how it is,” she murmured. “I cannot give either of you right. Aphrodite hurt you in a terrible way, but you forced her into a marriage she didn’t want. You both had your reasons. And she is my friend, and so are you. I cannot pick a side in this.”

“Nobody expects you to,” Hephaestus said. He lowered his head and stared at his own callused hands. “Neither of us was right. You have nothing to do with it. You shouldn’t have to worry about it.”

A shock of heat went through his body as he remembered Harmonia, who had no idea that the jewels around her neck were cursed. He clenched his fists. Cursing her had been a kneejerk reaction, not at all thought through. If it turned out to be a mistake, he would not be able to reverse it.

Groaning, he buried his face in his hands. There was a soft clunk when the skewed chair shifted on the stone ground, and not a second later, Aglaia’s hand was warm on his shoulder.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. I’m glad we talked about this,” she said. “I hope it’ll all go back to normal eventually.”

Hephaestus could only agree.

-

He did not go to the annual meeting on Olympus. Instead, he and Okeanos met in one of the palace’s rooms and brooded over the plans for a renovation of the palace. The crystal tunnels proved to be the biggest problem, since they were almost impossible to recreate. But the crystal had become fragile over the centuries, and it needed only one crack and one storm, and the ocean would flood the entire estate.

“We will have to tear them down,” Okeanos said at least a dozen times during the day, but they were both too stubborn to give up on his masterpiece.

They were so absorbed in their work that they almost didn’t notice when Tethys knocked on the door.

“We have a visitor,” she said.

Hephaestus frowned at her worried look. “Who is it?”

Tethys pursed her lips. “Hera,” she said.

Hephaestus reached for his cane. The reflex to flee whenever Hera was a guest in the palace was still deeply ingrained. But Okeanos put a hand on his arm to hold him back.

“She wants to speak to you, Hephaestus,” Tethys said.

The cane fell back against the edge of the table. Hephaestus stared at Tethys, who gave him a weak shrug in response. Behind her, Hera’s elegant form stepped over the threshold.

She was not clad in the gown of a Queen, but in simple robes that any wealthy girl could wear on a normal day. A single bracelet gleamed on her pale wrist.

Okeanos jumped up from his chair and drew her into a tight embrace.

“How have you been, my girl?” he asked with the smile of a proud father.

“Well, thank you.”

Hephaestus had to look twice to believe what he saw. Hera was smiling up at her foster-father, not cold like the statue-like Queen Hephaestus had met, but soft and warm like a young girl.

“I can tell you about everything later,” she said. Her eyes searched for Hephaestus, and her smile disappeared. “For now, I want to speak to my son.”

“Of course.” Okeanos cast a last worried glance at Hephaestus, but he didn’t pick up on his silent call for help. He placed a heavy hand on Hera’s shoulder and said, “Call us when you are done talking, we will be around.”

Hephaestus watched helplessly as he disappeared to the hallway. He could not bring himself to look at Hera. Instead, he fixed his eyes on the mural of a dolphin jumping on the wall and listened to the swish of Hera’s skirts as she walked towards him.

“Hello, my son.”

The friendly greeting startled Hephaestus, just enough to make him look up at his mother. She was still hidden behind her façade, but she had one hand nervously clenched in her skirt. Her voice wavered as she spoke.

“Your throne on Olympus was empty today.”

Hephaestus held her gaze. “It was.”

“If you decided to leave Olympus, I fully understand,” she said quietly. “And I will not stop you.”

Of course she would not. If he left, it meant that she never had to see his face again. He was inclined to assure her that he was not going to bother her again and show her the door. It was only because Tethys and Okeanos loved her like a daughter that he kept himself from doing it.

“It would however,” Hera began and stopped mid-sentence to take a deep breath, “be a distressing thought. I hope that your absence is only temporary.”

She buried her hands deeper in the folds of her skirt. She stood still, her thin lips pressed together, and waited for an answer that didn’t come.

Hephaestus repeated her words in his head, again and again. It didn’t make him understand them any better. Before, he had at least been able to make sense of her, but now he was at an utter loss. Silently, he mustered her face, hoping to be able to catch a glimpse of the person behind the façade. He hadn’t expected to truly find anything.

Hera did not crumble. She crashed like a clay vase hitting the ground. Her hands began to shake and her lips trembled, and all of a sudden, her majesty was gone.

“I want you to come back, is what I am trying to say,” she said. Her voice was raw, her words unpolished. She wrapped her arms around her chest and dug her nails into the skin of her upper arms. “I know I have no right to ask this of you,” she whispered. “But please, listen to me. There are a thousand things I should have told you sooner, before it all ended in this mess.”

Before, he had struggled to look at her. Now, he could not look away. He could only watch, motionlessly and open-mouthed, as the great Queen turned into a crying girl. There were tears on her cheeks. Real tears, created from raw emotion.

Automatically, Hephaestus gestured towards Okeanos’ empty chair to offer her a place to sit. She breathed a quiet “Thank you” and stumbled around the table.

Like this, she looked tiny. Her thin arms were fragile now, her delicate features soft, her long fingers as easily breakable as glass. Hephaestus marvelled at the sight of the person behind the Queen. Without her stone façade, Hera was weak.

“Talk,” he said. “I’ll listen.”

She gave him a trembling, thankful smile, but it took her two more deep breaths before she cautiously raised her voice.

“I am sorry,” she said. Only that, then she paused again and closed her eyes. For a while, she stayed like this. Eventually, her shoulders stopped shaking, and when she opened her eyes again, she looked a little more like herself again.

“There is no excuse for what I did to you,” she said. “But I will try to explain. I was so jealous when Athena was born, when Zeus became her mother as well as her father. He had taken motherhood from me, from the patron of mothers! He had taken my greatest pride, and turned me into a laughing stock! I had to try and reclaim it, to make them all see that I was still in charge of the giving of life. And I was sure I could do it too, have a child all by myself. It could not be so difficult, could it? For a woman who knew everything about being a mother?” She paused. “And then you were born.”

“And I was ugly,” Hephaestus said.

Hera swallowed. “I will not lie. But it doesn’t matter. I lost my right to motherhood in that moment. Not because of how you looked, but because I cared about it. I was so scared they would laugh at me, so angry at myself because my child wasn’t pretty” – she spat the words – “that I cast you away. Who am I to be the Goddess of mothers if I can’t even accept my own child?”

She let out a hysteric laugh. “Please don’t think I never cared about what I did. I spent days regretting it, thinking about what could have been if I had kept you, and other days trying to forget you altogether. It drove me mad.”

She paused and looked at him. He looked back, unmoving. If she wanted him to say something, she would be disappointed.

Again, she swallowed and looked at her tender hands on the table. “And then you stepped back into my life, with the strongest binding curse I had seen in my life.”

It almost looked like she was smiling. “I deserved it,” she said. “Zeus didn’t understand why I was willing to give you so much if you freed me. But there I was, chained by my son who I had never thought I would see again, and I had the chance to do something good!”

Her voice was dripping with bitterness. “I could finally give you what you had deserved from the beginning. A place on Olympus, like my other children had received. A throne to make up for what I had done.”

“And Aphrodite,” Hephaestus added.

“Yes,” Hera sighed. “And Aphrodite. The most beautiful of Goddesses, only good enough for you as a wife.”

Slowly, gradually, the pieces fit together. Hera’s discomfort around him, her overly generous offers, even his rash appointment to the council of the Twelve. He had thought about every possible plan Hera could have pursued, but it had never occurred to him that there had never been a plan at all.

“Please believe me,” Hera said softly, “that I never wanted it to end like this. If there is anything you wish for to make up for your loss, I assure you that you shall have it, and if I have to fight tooth and nail for it.”

Somehow, this gentle Hera reminded him of Thetis. She seemed unreal after he had known the stone version for such a long time, but it was easier to imagine that she could be as caring as Thetis was, if only she wanted to be. He still doubted that it was love rather than guilt that made her speak these words, but he had misjudged her once before.

There was a certain warmth in her eyes now that was not unlike what Hephaestus imagined a mother’s love to look like. It only made it harder to decide what to say to her. He had hated her for so long that he did not know how to be kind with her.

Hera wrung her hands on the table. Then, out of the blue, she sat up and looked straight into Hephaestus’ eyes. “I know that I cannot make up for what I did to you. But this will not keep me from trying. If you one day decide to forgive me, it would honour me more than I can say. But I never expect you to.”

Again, she looked at him in anticipation, and again, he could not find words. On the one hand, there was Hera, the statue, the Queen who he didn’t believe could care about anyone. On the other hand, there was this strange woman, so like Thetis that it was suddenly easy to picture her as his mother.

She had come here to show him this side of her, the side she hid from everyone. She had cracked her own façade and was, now that she had told him what she had wanted to say, struggling to pick up the pieces. Her eyes were tired now, and her shoulders slumped in exhaustion. No, he realised, Hera was not weak. She had found the strength to tell the son she had abandoned about her innermost feelings.

He still didn’t really understand her, but for this, he looked at her in admiration.

She rose from the chair with a sad smile. It vanished the moment she took the first step towards the door. Her features froze to cover her softness with the stone Hephaestus had grown so accustomed to seeing.

He looked at her, and the words fell out of his mouth. “I forgive you.”

Hera stopped in her tracks. The fresh mask fell from her face and she stared at him in shock.

“Why?” she asked.

He thought about Aphrodite, who was still nowhere to be found. About Ares, who had still not regained the dignity he had lost under the chains. About Harmonia and the sorrow the curse would eventually bring her.

“Because someone has to start forgiving,” he sighed and pushed himself up to his feet.

-

Aphrodite hadn’t changed at all. The sight of her in the volcano’s forge was so familiar that Hephaestus didn’t even truly notice her. He put down the golden bowls he was making for Olympus, and looked up in shock only when she started speaking.

“I heard you had moved in with Thetis again,” she said. “Apparently that was just a rumour.”

Hephaestus stared at her. After all this time, he had almost forgotten just how bewitching her beauty was. But he still remembered how to resist it.

“I did,” he answered, “as a matter of fact. But I am still working here.”

Aphrodite strolled over to a bronze table covered in shining gems. She picked up one of them, held it up into the light and, sighing, put it down again.

“You came,” he said, stunned. He had never expected her to come. “Does that mean you will return to Olympus?”

“I will after this.” She ran both hands through her shining hair and looked at him with tired eyes. “Your message ripped me out of a fever dream that made me think I could leave forever. As if I could bear to stay away from this messed up place.”

“One does grow attached to it,” Hephaestus admitted.

It was surreal to think about her leaving for good. Surely, it was impossible that she had even tried – Aphrodite was as linked to Olympus as the white marble and the boastful golden décor. And yet, he had every reason to believe that she was telling the truth. Hermes had told him that he had tracked his connections down to the far, far East of Asia, far past the borders of Olympus’ influence.

“Where have you been all this time?” he asked.

Aphrodite shrugged. She looked weirdly small. “I went to India,” she sighed. “Joined the Nymphs on Mount Nyseion until I noticed that it wasn’t far enough yet. Then I went here and there, from one city to the other. I found a house, spent the years as a mortal.” She scrunched up her nose. “It’s terrible. You start thinking about your life as if it is going to end in a decade or two. I don’t know how mortals manage that.”

Hephaestus watched her wander aimlessly around the forge. In the dull light of the fires, her skin was yellowish pale. Her hair was pitch-black today and was loosely draped over her shoulders. She looked like a beautiful ghost trapped in the world of the living.

“Enough of this,” she began, and rounded a barrel of half-finished axes. “Why did you call me here?”

He had been waiting for this, for her to start the conversation. From here on, he had prepared his words. “I want to settle this,” he said. “It’s been years. Nothing has changed so far. If we want to put an end to this, we must talk.”

Aphrodite kept wandering, so indifferent that Hephaestus wondered if he had even spoken aloud. Her movements were irritating. Strands of hair fell over her face and covered her eyes, and whenever Hephaestus caught a glimpse of her expression, she turned away a moment later.

Finally, she stopped only a few steps from him, and reached for one of the bowls on the workbench. With her delicate fingers, she lightly traced the patterns on the gold.

“I know the necklace is cursed,” she murmured.

Hephaestus winced. “It is.”

“Why did you do it? Harmonia had nothing to do with our fight.”

He hesitated. The truth was, he could barely explain it to himself. Whenever he thought back to the day, it was only a blur of pain and rage. When he had first started doubting his decision, he had watched Harmonia proudly show off the jewels to her wedding guests, oblivious to the curse that lasted on them. By then, it had already been too late.

“It was a rash decision,” he admitted. No better, when he thought about it, than Hera’s decision to throw him from Olympus.

“Can you break the curse?” Aphrodite asked.

He shook his head. “I would if I could. It’s too strong.”

She turned the bowl in her hands. Her own mirror image, tinted in gold, stared back at her. “I see.”

“I could try to lock the curse in the necklace,” he offered. “Then she can find peace when she passes it on. But I can’t say if it’s going to work. It might slip and transfer, to another person or to the city.”

“I think it’s worth the try,” Aphrodite said. She brushed a streak of hair behind her ear. “Do you plan to tell Harmonia?”

“Yes.” He just hadn’t gotten around doing it yet. Every time he tried to make himself leave for Thebes, he suddenly remembered something else that had to be done immediately. He knew he was just avoiding the confrontation, but the crippling guilt that welled up when he even thought about facing Harmonia was nearly impossible to overcome.

“Don’t,” Aphrodite said, and the relief made him dizzy for a moment. “She would only worry if she knew. Let her live her life in peace until she finds out for herself.”

It was difficult not to agree on the spot and never think about it again. Aphrodite was right, Harmonia would have a terrible life knowing that she was cursed. But she did have a right to know. He reserved his answer for another time, when he had thought about this.

Their silence didn’t last long. Aphrodite put down the bowl and picked up another to carefully muster it. “Who are these for?” she asked.

The halls of Olympus, he wanted to say, but he stopped himself from answering. This was not what they were meant to discuss, not what he had messaged her for. He had told her what it was about. She had asked herself.

And since then, she was continuously changing the topic. Slowly, he took the bowl from her hands and put it back to the others. She was still trying to escape. Her return meant only that she didn’t use her legs to run anymore.

He would not let her. She had been gone for long enough.

“That’s not the matter,” he said. She looked up, and for a moment, he was without words again. He could catch and bind her with metal, but in the spinning of words, he was by far not adept enough.

“Isn’t it?” she asked quietly.

Hephaestus cleared his throat. Where was his stubborn head when he needed it? He was letting the only chance go he might have to speak to her. He would have to try, in good words or in bad ones.

“I called you to talk about this.” He cut himself off, and corrected, “About us. What happened to our marriage. And about Ares too, I suppose.”

Aphrodite’s pretty face froze. Her eyes found his in a silent plea, but he stayed relentless. One of her hands absentmindedly reached for the bowls again, but she flinched back from the gold like it was poisoned. Her eyes turned to the ground and her shoulders sagged. She knew she was bound, and she knew she had only one way to free herself.

“It’s not a pleasant topic,” she said.

“It isn’t,” Hephaestus agreed. “Still.”

“Yes, I see. We have to talk about it. Otherwise, it will haunt us forever.” Aphrodite sighed and wrapped her arms tightly around her own body. “Please let me begin by saying that I never meant to hurt you like this.”

He might have laughed, if it hadn’t been so tragic. “You didn’t even want the marriage.”

“No, I didn’t,” she said, without hesitation. It still stung, only a tiny bit. With an insecure smile, she added, “But that I didn’t want to marry you doesn’t necessarily mean that I didn’t want you.”

If it was a lie, it was perfectly told. It had all the warmth of genuine emotion, the quiet hesitance of a confession, and the clear, simple words in which she spoke when she was at her most honest. If only he could read her mind. He was tired of trying to figure out her intentions. It was a frustratingly fruitless work.

“You don’t make sense,” he groaned. “You made a vow to me and broke it. Then you disappeared for years. Now you tell me – what? What are you trying to say?”

Aphrodite gave him the fondest of looks. “That I do love you,” she chuckled.

“Then you do not make sense!” he yelled. He slammed his fist down onto the workbench.

The bench creaked under the force of the blow, and three of the bowls fell off the edge. They crashed to the floor with ear-splitting clatter. The black walls of the forge caught the noise and threw the thunderous echoes back at them.

Aphrodite yanked up an arm in surprise and covered her face. The noise died down, and she dared to peek out of her shield.

“You don’t understand,” she said slowly.

“No, I don’t,” Hephaestus growled. “You contradict yourself with everything you do! You are with Ares, and yet you agree to marry me. You kiss me and take my presents, and yet you sleep with him behind my back. You tell me you love me and yet you make no secret of loving him. How am I supposed to understand that?”

His heart was racing up in his throat. This time, he had gripped his cane so tightly the metal in his hand bent and cracked. He would have to fix that later, and it made him even more furious.

And Aphrodite started to laugh. Her enchanting voice was like a song; she laughed brightly into his face while his arms were trembling with rage.

“Stop laughing!” he bellowed. “I’m sick of everyone laughing!”

She bit her lip and fell silent. “You’re right. I’m sorry,” she said, but a small smile stayed on her face. “That I love someone doesn’t mean that I want to marry them.”

“You wanted to marry Ares,” Hephaestus argued.

Aphrodite shook her head. “No. I don’t want to marry anyone, ever. It’s what Zeus expected from me when they wouldn’t stop fighting about me, because they foolishly thought that I was unclaimed.”

“When you already were.”

“No.” She sighed. “When I tried to make clear that nobody can claim me. I claim myself, that is. But in the eyes of the council, a woman is a virgin or a wife, and it bothered them that I am neither.”

“Demeter is neither,” Hephaestus huffed.

“Yes, but the last time someone upset Demeter, she created a new season.” Aphrodite gently moved some of the bowls aside and heaved herself up on the workbench. There she sat with her long legs dangling and looked around the forge.

“I don’t want to be married,” she said. “It’s true, when I was forced to, I chose Ares. I suppose someone told you how this started by now. I agreed to marry the person who could bring you up to Olympus, and I sent Ares, hoping that he would succeed. Then the council would have what they wanted and I would at least be married to someone I truly loved. Needless to say that it didn’t quite work out.”

Hephaestus clenched his jaw. “If you hated the idea of marrying me so much, why did you do it?”

“I had to.” She shrugged. “I didn’t have anything to say in this matter. But honestly, it didn’t matter if it was you or anyone else! I am not made to be anyone’s wife! I am the Goddess of love! I cannot restrict my love to only one person!"

Hephaestus frowned at her. "But with Ares, you can?"

"No,” she answered, and when he looked at her in confusion, she explained, “Ares knows I love others besides him. He has affairs too. As long as we know we love each other, we don't mind.”

Hephaestus searched her face for any signs of dishonesty, but there were none. Was it still adultery, he wondered, if they were both aware of each other’s affairs? Did it still hurt to know that the other’s love was not undivided? If she and Ares were both so genuine about their love to each other, they had discovered a way to make this work.

Maybe he would be able to rebuild this marriage, on the premise of them being free to love whomever they wanted. Aphrodite would still be with Ares, then, and possibly others. Hephaestus would be able to do the same. Maybe it would not be that difficult, he told himself, and tried not to think about the sick feeling that had haunted him since he had discovered Aphrodite’s affair.

“But you would mind,” Aphrodite said softly, in the very moment he realised that he would.

He still told himself that he could live with the affairs when he got used to it. Eternity, after all, was a long time to be with one person exclusively. But the mere thought of sharing love, something as intimate as the relationship with the person he decided to spend his life with – it was alien to him.

“That's why I didn't tell you,” Aphrodite said. “I can’t change myself, and I certainly can’t stop loving Ares. But I didn’t want to hurt you.”

"And not talking solved your problems,” Hephaestus said drily.

"I know it was a mistake,” she sighed. “I wish I had told you, and I am sorry.”

She searched for his eyes. A bit of colour had returned to her cheeks. He couldn’t say if she had changed her appearance intentionally, or if it was just the lighting that was different in this part of the forge.

"I love you,” she said. “I honestly, truly do. Of all the people they could have forced me to marry, I am glad it was you. You showed me that you don't need to have a pretty face to be beautiful."

Not for the first time, he noted with surprise that it truly was the heart that hurt in such moments. It was like a special brand of poison, one that had him in pain and that he still couldn’t get enough of.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I guess that's only making it worse, isn't it?” She laughed quietly and looked at the ground. “You know I would stay with you if it was possible. But you also know that it is not."

She smiled again, and he remembered their wedding day, when her smile had been just as sad and quiet as it was now. Her features had been the same too, pale skin and jet-black hair, tiny freckles and blade-sharp cheekbones. She had looked at him like this and he had marvelled that this wonderful being would be his. How ironic, that he was looking into the same face as he let her go.

No, he corrected himself. There was nothing to let go. She had never been his, or Ares’, or anyone’s. Aphrodite was like a wild bird, impossible to be caged. She belonged only to herself.

"It probably isn't,” he said.

“No, it isn’t,” she agreed. "We're too different. In what we want and what we need. This was bound to fail from the start."

"We didn't really do anything to stop it from failing."

"You did.” In a swift motion, she slid off the workbench and closed the last bit of space between them to kiss his cheek. “Do you still want the gifts back that you gave me? I'd hate to give them away, but I don't feel like they're my right anymore."

So she had not meant to return them by leaving them in the volcano. He briefly wondered how he should have known that, but it didn’t matter anymore.

"No. Keep them,” he said. “I made them for you.”

Since she had left, he hadn’t touched the jewels once. He had thought about passing them on, because a piece unused was as imperfect as one badly made. But something had held him back every time. They were hers, created to rest on her collarbone and to be woven around her wrists. Each of them was meant to be a mirror of a certain aspect of her – never the whole person, she was too beautiful to be captured even in art.

No matter what she said, she had every right to them, still. Any other person wearing them would be a disgrace to their very core. He could only think of one single exception. 

“One, maybe,” he said. “One I'd like to have back."

She blinked at him in surprise, but she only said, "Of course."

"The necklace that was your first bridal gift?"

"The coral one?” Her red lips formed a small pout. “Oh, such a pity. One of my favourites. There is love in this one."

He was a little surprised that she even remembered it. After all, over everything that had happened, he had almost forgotten it himself. Not the necklace, but what he liked to think of as the basis, the heart of its existence. He had thought of it as a first token of love to his wife, and later, as a first gift made in vain. It pained him to admit that he had forgotten that it had not originally been Aphrodite’s.

"I started making it for Aglaia before I changed my mind,” he said.

"Then she should have it!” Aphrodite decided.

He wasn’t all that sure of that, somehow, it did seem tainted now that it had been gifted to someone else. But he would not argue.

Silently, he limped around the workbench and bent to pick up the fallen bowls. Two of them were right next to each other, seemingly unharmed. Before he could reach for the third, Aphrodite picked it up and placed it next to the others on the bench. There she stayed and watched him carefully as he set down the bowls.

“After all that we did too each other, this seems so easy,” she mused. “A necklace locking a curse, a necklace returned."

He met her eyes and hesitantly returned her smile. "Almost funny."

Laughing, she nudged his upper arm with her elbow. "It is. It's ridiculous."

He joined in her laughter. He couldn’t help it, just like he couldn’t help it that he still loved her. It didn’t help that they had reconciled, if anything, he loved her even more now that he understood her.

It would pass eventually, or so he hoped. He would learn to see her as a friend. For now, not loathing her was good enough.

-

Thetis shook her head at him when he told her that he would be returning to Olympus. “We will miss you dearly, but I’d be glad if this could be the last time you change your mind.”

He promised her that it would be.

The hallways in the volcano were still empty without Aphrodite’s songs, but it was a lot more bearable since he knew he could visit Olympus when the house became too lonely. Hera smiled at him every time he visited, and recently, he had started to smile back.

They talked, too, a few words after meetings or banquets. She was easy to talk to if you knew how to peek through her stone wall. And if Zeus glared at them from across the room, Hephaestus was less bothered by it than he should have been.

“Ignore him,” Hera advised him under her breath. Hephaestus didn’t have the heart to tell her that he was already doing just that.

“The King of the Gods loathes me,” he said instead.

“He cannot deal with the fact that I had a child without him.” Hera rolled her eyes. “As if he didn’t have more mistresses and children than he can remember.”

Hephaestus was getting used to her grim glares by now. When he had once believed them to be directed at the entire world, he now wondered whether there was more to them than he had originally thought. He would have time to find out.

At least he could now be sure that she didn’t scorn him, although he was still relieved when the bitterness disappeared from her features and she smiled again.

“Or,” she said, “he has not yet forgiven you for tying me to a chair.”

He had learnt to laugh with her. It had been the shortest and easiest lesson in his life.

He had never expected that forgiving her would be easier than forgiving Olympus, but he was still having trouble with the latter. The whispers behind his back had not yet completely ceased, and he doubted that they ever would. Though the Gods had gotten used to his appearance, the story of him and Aphrodite would be carried through the centuries, from mouth to ear to mouth to ear.

Hephaestus would have guessed that out of the three people involved, Ares would be the most bothered by the stories told, so he could barely believe his eyes when it was Aphrodite who, one day after she had returned to Olympus, went up to Apollo and slapped him in the face.

“This is for the audacity to bet on my love life,” she spat.

Hephaestus didn’t know if Hermes had met the same fate, but he would not put it past Aphrodite. Ares, meanwhile, was even less bothered by the whispers than Hephaestus was. They shared a quiet sense of discomfort whenever they were in a room together, not only because of each other’s presence, but because of the eyes that were inevitably locked on them.

But that would change, too. Other, more interesting things were bound to happen, and even the minds of Gods were easily bored once there was nothing new to tell about a story.

Before he knew what was happening, it was over. He went back to the work in his forge, with an abundance of new requests now that he had officially returned to Olympus. He politely avoided Ares on the hallways of Olympus. And when he one day found Aphrodite in the forge, who told him she had come to visit a friend, he was not nearly as surprised as he maybe should have been.

It was exactly what his most desperate wish had been for years, so it was all the more disappointing when the relief he had expected never came. The numb, alien feeling that had come with his move to Olympus prevailed like nothing had changed at all.

Ironically, it was strongest when he was with those he had left in the first place. With the end of the drama around Aphrodite, he had expected his relationship to the sisters to go back to normal. It didn’t. Pasithea and Euphrosyne were lighter around him, laughed genuinely again, but they still flinched when he mentioned Aphrodite. It was a small progress, he supposed.

Aglaia was different. Like her sisters, she was opening up again, but she never searched his company like she used to do. He didn’t understand, because she was the only one he had spoken to about what had changed them. But between them, there now seemed to be an invisible, mile-wide cleft.

It took him far longer to talk to her than necessary, and he was not proud of the fact. He tried to justify his hesitation by telling himself that it was difficult to find her alone, now that Aphrodite had returned. She and the sisters were rarely seen apart from each other recently.

He tried not to remember that he knew exactly how to find her alone, that he had known ever since he’d been a child. But when he returned from presenting the golden bowls he had made for Olympus’ feasts, and found her alone in the gardens, he in resignation admitted to himself that he had no excuse to avoid her this time.

The clunk of his cane had never given him a chance to approach anyone quietly, and for once, he was grateful for it. Aglaia turned around instantly. She was sitting on a small staircase that lead up to one of the pavilions, and the sunlight was putting small golden spots in her curls. She smiled when she saw him walk up to her, and waited patiently until he had manoeuvred up the stairs and had adjusted himself next to her.

“A good day,” she wished.

“And a good day to you,” he replied. “How are you and your sisters?”

“Well. I think Thetis might be lonely without you, but she will prevail.” The edges of her mouth twitched in an insecure attempt to feign light-hearted laughter. She was looking at the gardens more than at him, he noticed.

“How are you?” she asked. “I heard you settled things with Aphrodite.”

Hephaestus’ hands twitched with impatience. She was so hesitant. There was no doubt that she had heard about this from Aphrodite herself, and that she already knew the entire story.

He answered anyways. “We did. We decided that it’s for the better if we separate for good.”

“I cannot say that I disagree.” Aglaia let her eyes drop to her feet. “And you are fine with it?”

“It does not work, between us.”

Letting Aphrodite go, in the end, had been less painful than this. He had been so concentrated on her that he had barely noticed, but it stung like poison that the woman who had once been his best friend now could barely look him in the eyes.

He should tell her, be straightforward with her. But one mistake could drive her away for good. It was so fragile now, the bond that had once been unbreakable.

“You still love her, though,” Aglaia murmured. It was not a question.

“I might,” he said. “It doesn’t matter now.”

“Do you think you can do that?” she asked. Her hands were folded in her lap now, and she was gazing out into the garden. “Can you be friends with the woman you love? Is it not torture, in a way?”

“I know what would happen if we were lovers,” he answered. It was what he recalled every time he caught his heart beating faster when he saw Aphrodite.

Aglaia turned to look at him in wonder and laughed. “I believe that would make it easier.”

She reached out, almost automatically, to brush something off his shoulder. Halfway, she froze and jerked her hand back. Hephaestus paid the stains of ash on his robe a brief glance, but he didn’t bother removing them.

“Did Aphrodite tell you her side of the story?” he asked.

“She did.” A little tension seemed to leave Aglaia’s limbs. “Did you know she went to Asia? Beyond India, even?”

Hephaestus nodded. “She told me.”

“I can’t believe she went so far away from home!” Aglaia said, shaking her head. “She said she had no one there, nobody she knew, for years. And isn’t it scary? To be on your own in a place you don’t know a thing about?”

Her fingers were still clenched in her skirt. Hephaestus mustered them, her smooth, dark hands and her polished nails, tense with a distress he couldn’t comprehend.

“I understand why she left, though,” he said.

Aglaia sucked in a breath. She bit her lips, then nervously licked them and bit her tongue, too. She was almost shaking with tension now. This was not the charming girl he knew, the lady who remained calm in the face of dire discussion. She changed so thoroughly when she spoke of Aphrodite to him – or when she spoke to him at all. He hated that he of all people made her so distraught.

Aglaia let her green eyes wander over his face, caught here and there by something he did not dare think about. Her dark brows were drawn together in worry.

Finally, she took a deep breath and asked: “You’re not fleeing, are you? Because things are still different?”

“I had thought that it had gone back to normal,” he admitted.

Aglaia’s lips formed a small, round “Oh.” Her curls bobbed forward when she slowly nodded. “Then it’s just me,” she murmured.

She didn’t attempt to explain, she just let these words stand on their own, utterly confusing as they were. It took Hephaestus a lot of strength not to groan in despair.

He had not left Thetis’ house because he was fleeing. He left because he believed that all of this was worth the agony he had gone through during the past years. He was one of the Twelve, he had reconciled with Hera and Aphrodite, he no longer had to hide in a cave under the sea. But if it meant that his best friend was now someone he could not even make sense of, he would gladly go back in time and stop himself from chaining Hera to the throne.

He looked Aglaia over again, but he knew that it would be in vain. He could not find a way to recreate what they had lost in the mere quirk of her eyebrow, in the tiny wrinkle on her forehead.

He sighed in exhaustion. “Tell me what troubles you,” he said. “My argument with Aphrodite is over. If this is what upsets you, tell me what else I can do about it.”

Aglaia looked at him in shock. “I am not upset. Is that what you think? Do you think I’m angry with you?” Her scowl vanished and her face lit up with understanding.

“I’m not!” she laughed and playfully nudged his shoulder – almost like she used to do. “If anything, I’m proud of you! It takes strength to admit one’s mistakes and change things for the better.”

A heavy weight fell from his shoulders, one that he hadn’t known he had been carrying. How long had it been there, and when had he accepted it as simply a part of life? 

“I didn’t do anything,” he said, but Aglaia shook her head at him.

“You talked to Aphrodite. She wouldn’t have come back otherwise.”

Amidst the relief and the persisting confusion, there was a touch of pride. He did not deserve to feel it, probably. He had only mended a fraction of what he and Aphrodite had caused, and he had only brought up the courage for one single conversation. He hadn’t even decided whether he would tell Harmonia of the curse.

If only he could mend his bond to Aglaia, it would take him a step closer to the strength Hera had proven when she had spoken to him, and that he would consider a great achievement.

“What is it then, if you are not upset?” he asked.

Aglaia dropped her gaze to the bright green grass again. “I don’t know. Things changed, and I am afraid of change. Do you remember when I changed rooms, and I slept in Euphrosyne’s room for an entire year?”

He couldn’t help but smile. That had been centuries ago. “I remember.”

Aglaia nudged his shoulder again. “I know you all thought it was ridiculous. I was terrified. It was so strange! The lighting was different, it was so much brighter that I couldn’t sleep for months, the walls were different, it was all so alien to me!” She swallowed. “It feels like that, in a way. I thought it would go back to normal, too, when you came back, but it didn’t.”

There was nothing he could answer to this. After all, he had felt it too, the shift in their relationship. Living with Thetis had been different, strange when it shouldn’t have been. It was not why he had returned to Olympus, but it had played into his decision. The volcano seemed a little more like home now even than the estate under the sea.

As much as he wanted things to go back to how they were, Aglaia was right. Some changes were irreversible. He only hoped she understood that his silence was a confirmation.

He waited for her to speak again, and she did, this time with a smile on her face.

“It’s strange that you aren’t there anymore, too. I sometimes start wondering at night if you are alright or if you are overworking yourself and not sleeping again.” She laughed. “I am slowly turning into Thetis.”

“Thetis is one of a kind,” Hephaestus said. He cleared his throat and lightly placed a hand on her shoulder, to steady her. She instinctively put her hand on his, delicate and familiar and incredibly comforting.

“I cannot promise not to work at night, I fear,” he said. “But you are always welcome in the forge.” He paused, and added, “It does get lonely, sometimes.”

“Then I will make sure to visit,” Aglaia said.

She leant forward just a little and let the sunlight cast a soft glow on her cheeks, and Hephaestus suddenly wondered how she would look in the warm, dim lighting of the volcano. Similar to the mesmerising beauty she possessed in the forge underwater, he imagined, where her curls looked red like glowing ashes, but he could not be sure. She had never set foot into the volcano after all.

The thought alone made him pause. How long had it been? How many times had he and Aphrodite visited Eurynome? And yet, when Aglaia came to visit him, he would have to show her around the rooms. He was suddenly sure that she would be disappointed in his lack of decorations. He had spent most of his time working on jewellery and not on furniture, and Aphrodite had never bothered to change anything about the interior. He would have to stop Aglaia from painting the walls.

And when she was there, she could pick something up, too. Her necklace was sitting on one of the workbenches in the forge now. Aphrodite had found it when she had taken the rest of the jewellery with her, and he had left it there, so not to lose it again.

Now, as he looked at Aglaia, he was angry at himself that he had ever forgotten who he had made it for. There was so much of her in these stones. The pearls that she loved to collect from clams she collected on the beach. The red of the coral that mirrored the reddish tint of her dark curls. Even the specific colour of the light gold that she had such a fascination with. He remembered her talk about it like it was yesterday, she had marvelled at how this gold, in the right lighting, could look like silver.

“There is something I want to give you, too,” he said. “You can come to pick it up.”

Aglaia raised an eyebrow at him. “What is it? Pasithea will be jealous if I am the only one to get a present.”

“It’s not quite like that.” It was surprisingly easy to talk, with his hand securely on Aglaia’s shoulder. “I made it some time ago. Years. It is a necklace of coral and pearl, that I gave to Aphrodite.”

“I know the one,” Aglaia interrupted. She was frowning again.

“It was not made for her. It was meant for you, originally,” he said. “You should have it.”

Aglaia’s hand on his twitched. She lifted it up to her brow to brush away a lock that was not there, and hesitantly put it back. Slowly, she shook her head.

“No. It’s Aphrodite’s.”

“I made it for you,” Hephaestus repeated, stunned.

“But you gave it to her.” Aglaia smiled at him. “You made me so many beautiful things, and I treasure every one of them. It would feel wrong to take something that belongs to a friend.”

Hephaestus could not quite agree. In his eyes, the person something was made for completed the work. In the moment they wore it, used it, even looked at it, they became part of the art itself. And it could not truly be perfect if it was given to the wrong person.

“And besides,” Aglaia added, and her smile became wide and warm again. “As much as I love your work, I’d rather visit to see you than a piece of gold.”

All the arguments he had for her to take the necklace suddenly seemed irrelevant. Hephaestus let out a throaty laugh. It was hard to believe anyone would want to see him rather than something beautiful, but he didn’t doubt Aglaia was saying the truth.

“You are a strange person,” he laughed, and Aglaia replied,

“You’ve known that for centuries.”

He would have to lock the necklace away again. With Aphrodite, it would be as imperfect as it was on its own. It would serve as one last reminder of what had happened, one last unsolved problem, one work forever incomplete.

Like this, it was still not truly over. He was fairly certain now that it would never really end either. It would just continue, in one way or another, into eternity. For now, it would continue with a visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and for the super sweet comments I got! Kinda makes you want to write more about Greek Gods.


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